My Secret
by Telentropy X
Summary: Altair and Malik rescue a young woman from the Templars, never expecting the drastic changes she would cause within the Brotherhood as a whole and for Malik personally.
1. Chapter 1

Altair reined his horse to a stop and the white stallion reared in protest, kicking up a cloud of dust. The Assassin looked back toward Damascus and allowed himself a satisfied smirk as the sound of the bells reached his ears.

"Come! We must go!" Malik told him, his mare spinning around excitedly. "They saw us leave through that gate and it will not be long before they give chase."

Altair looked back at his companion, his mouth pressed into an indifferent line while his eyes, hidden beneath his hood, glittered.

"Al-Mualim will be pleased with our report," Kadar remarked as his mount crow-hopped beneath him.

" _His_ report," Malik corrected his younger brother, casting a sidelong glance at Altair.

"And I will be pleased to get a decent bath and a hot meal," Kadar continued as though he had not heard.

The thought of a night spent in a bed definitely appealed to the three men and with one last backward glance at the city of Damascus, they kicked their mounts into a gallop toward Masyaf. Once they had placed several miles between themselves and the city, they slowed their pace, allowing the horses to catch their wind. Malik slouched comfortably in his saddle, listening for the sounds of pursuit.

"Do you think they will chase us this far?" Kadar asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then taking another drink of water from his flask.

Malik opened his mouth to reply.

"No," Altair answered. "They've already given up by now."

Malik's mouth shut in a frown at the back of Altair's hooded head. The man's very posture exuded smug certainty.

"Has anyone told you, brother," Malik began, "that you've grown more insufferable, of late?"

"Has anyone told you, _brother_ , that you nag worse than a crone, of late?" Altair tossed over his shoulder, not bothering to conceal his contempt.

Malik scowled. "Your pride will get us killed."

Altair smirked once again. "I believe you said that before we entered Damascus, and yet, here we are."

"Has anyone told either of you," Kadar urged his horse closer to his superiors, "that you _bicker_ like brothers?"

Altair's smirk dissolved into a scowl that neither of the brothers could see.

Malik turned in his saddle to regard his brother curiously. " _We_ don't bicker," he said.

"Yes, we do," Kadar assured him.

"No, we don't," Malik replied, certain his brother was mistaken.

"Yes, we do."

"No, we-" Malik stopped abruptly and closed his eyes, heaving a sigh and praying for patience. "Chew your meat, little brother, and be quiet." He turned around again, feeling his brother's grin on his back like the afternoon sun.

Kadar did as Malik said and held his peace while he chewed on a strip of dried meat. "Will we reach the oasis before nightfall?" he asked at last.

Malik looked up to gauge the hours they had left to travel. "Perhaps," he answered. "Of course, we might have made better time had not someone stopped to admire the tone of the city's bells."

Altair stiffened in his saddle and cocked his head indignantly, but otherwise did not reply to Malik's goad.

Suddenly, Malik halted his mount with uncharacteristic roughness as a movement to his right caught his eye.

"What is it?" Kadar asked.

"Altair," Malik called, his voice low with warning.

Altair spun his horse around, expecting to see the pursuit he'd been so confident would not happen.

Malik shielded his eyes from the late afternoon sun as he watched a woman struggle to the top of a sand dune and collapse, tumbling down its face.

"What...?" Kadar's voice mirrored his brother's incredulity as Malik started to edge his mare in that direction, feeling a familiar tightening in his stomach.

The woman picked herself up and tried to run, looking back over her shoulder, but her feet caught in the soft piles of sand and she fell prone again. As she resorted to crawling, five mounted men topped the dune behind her and their voices carried clearly to the Assassins.

"Is she trying to leave us?" one jeered.

"Don't know," another answered as he dismounted. "But I intend to find out."

She forced her feet under her again and made one final effort to run but he caught her easily. Her cry was one of anguish and terror.

Malik spurred his horse forward without looking to see if the others would follow him. The red cross on the soldier's surcoat marked him for death on its own, but this was something he would not watch regardless. Altair's stallion gained and passed him and he grinned, knowing that his brother in arms would never leave him to fight alone. As he drew near, he released the reins, reached for his belt and gripped two of his throwing knives, guiding his mount with his knees as he prepared to throw the blades.

She had been so close to freedom, so close to an end to her torment. The guard dragged her against his chest, leering down at her.

"You weren't running away from me, were you, love?" he asked, gripping her slender waist in cruel hands.

She fought and tried to push away from him, hoping that, if nothing else, she could provoke him into killing her. What a relief it would be, to fall asleep in the sunlight like she used to do as a child.

Suddenly, a spray of red coated her face and he released her, grabbing desperately at the blade protruding from his neck. She collapsed to her knees as he fell, dying with a gurgle and she looked up into the glaring sunlight to see three white-robed horsemen ride into the group of soldiers and everywhere they went, her captors died. One of the soldiers held his spear out to impale the white horse and its rider flung himself from the saddle and landed feet-first on the man's chest, driving him to the ground while gripping his throat in both hands. When he stood, the guard didn't move and she saw a dark stain spreading around his neck and head. Confused, her eyes were drawn upward, trailing the blood spattered robes, to the blade in his left hand.

"Are there more?" Altair asked, looking around him to see if any of the men were moving. He saw one but Malik drove his sword through the man's heart.

"I see none," Kadar answered. He was the only one still mounted and he stood in his stirrups to check the horizons.

"These would not have been alone," Malik said, cleaning his blade on the dead man's pants. "We should either go, or wait and kill the rest when they come searching."

Altair regarded him with some surprise, though the shadow of his hood concealed it. Malik had never been one to advocate for more bloodshed than was immediately necessary. While he would never admit it, in the brief moments of the fight, Malik had impressed him. The man's precision almost matched his own and, though he was loathe to admit this even to himself, Malik's skill with his throwing knives was equal to his.

"If we stay, they will have the advantage this time," Kadar said.

"That would not be an issue if we did not have _this_ to concern ourselves with," Altair replied as he retracted his hidden blade and approached the woman. He gripped her arm and lifted her to her feet. "Do you have a name?" he asked gruffly.

She did not answer but her blank stare and trembling body spoke of her trauma.

Altair sighed impatiently and his eyes widened when she suddenly shrunk away from him. Then, when she realized he still gripped her arm, she whimpered and tried to pry his fingers away. He took her by the shoulders then, noticing that she had yet to meet his eyes.

"Peace, woman," he told her. "You'll come to no harm by our hands."

She stopped struggling and stood mutely before him.

"Will we take her back to Masyaf?" Kadar asked.

"Is that not where we are going?" Malik replied, leading his mare over to Altair. "She can ride with me."

Altair nodded in agreement but as Malik turned to mount, he stopped. Facing the woman once again, he pulled her shawl from around her shoulders and draped it over her head, covering her matted, dull, brown hair. She took a breath as though she had just awakened and her hands gripped the fabric tightly. Malik glanced up at Altair, anger smoldering in his dark eyes and the other Assassin's mouth tightened into a furious line.

Kadar had ridden closer and seen the woman's reaction to being covered. "Do you suppose they-"

"Yes, now be silent," Malik told him, careful not to raise his voice. He mounted and held out a hand. Altair lifted the woman easily and placed her in Malik's arms, then turned to his own horse.

"We should reach the oasis by dusk," he said, steering his horse away from the carnage.

Malik and Kadar fell in line behind him and the youngest Assassin urged his mount up to his brother's.

"Will she be alright?" he asked tentatively.

Malik looked down at the inert figure in his arms, saw the cuts in her lips and the bruises on her cheek and knew that there were other, more horrific wounds that he could not see. "Perhaps," he answered.

Hours later, as night began to cover the land, they arrived at the long anticipated oasis. When they dismounted, Malik was sure he heard the horses grumble in relief. He laid the woman on ground and headed toward a scraggly bush.

"It's too dark to gather fire wood," Altair told him wearily.

"I'm not gathering fire wood," came Malik's muffled reply.

Altair rolled his eyes and muttered various insults under his breath. Malik came back then with a bundle under his arm and a smirk on his face. As he unrolled the canvas, sticks clattered to the ground at his feet.

Kadar laughed. "I thought I'd lost that," he said as Malik folded the canvas neatly. "When did you hide the wood?"

"On our way to Damascus," Malik answered, stowing the fabric in Kadar's saddle bag. "I thought it would be a good idea in case something happened on our return."

Altair snorted derisively and looked toward the woman lying in their midst. Malik tossed a flint stone at him with a smirk.

"Something else you claim to have superior skill in," he said.

Altair scowled at him, but picked up the stone and began stacking the wood to make a fire. The idea of a hot meal appealed despite his irritation at Malik. As he struck sparks to ignite the kindling, Kadar settled the horses down for the night and Malik perused his saddle bag. As the wood caught fire, the woman stirred and Altair glanced up at her. She sat up slowly and tightened her grip on her shawl, keeping her head bowed. Though her shawl concealed her eyes and the flickering light cast odd shadows on her face, he could feel her gaze on him.

In the silence of the ride, her mind had calmed and she had entertained the fantasy that she was indeed safe for the first time in years. Sitting before the fire, she almost believed it. Then, her eyes were drawn to the man across from her and her hope faded like the twilight.

"You have nothing to fear from us," he told her, as though he could hear her thoughts. As he broke up more sticks for the fire, her attention was drawn to his left hand, to the stub of his third finger.

Assassins?

No other men could kill with such ruthless efficiency, yet, oddly, she felt comforted. While she did not feel truly safe sitting in the midst of the three men, she knew they would protect her, and no, they would not harm her.

Malik approached the fire with his flask and a rag. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the woman sitting up next to the flames. "Kadar," he called. "Get us some food ready."

"Why am I cooking?" Kadar asked, groaning as he stood up from checking his horse's hoof.

"Because I wish to arrive at Masyaf alive," Malik told him.

Altair scowled and drew the breath to berate him, then thought better of it and held his peace. Kadar shrugged and began rummaging in their packs to find something to prepare for supper.

Malik placed a hand on the woman's shoulder. She turned her head but didn't look up at him. He knelt in front her, trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible, no easy feat when she had seen him butcher the Templar guards earlier. Dried blood splatter covered her face, her bruises were more exaggerated in the firelight and the haunted look in her eyes tore at him. He dampened the rag and reached toward her, touching her cheek even as she clenched her eyes shut and shrank back from him.

The gentleness of his touch as he cleaned the blood off her face surprised her. When he pressed the cool cloth to the bruise under her eye, she dared to look up and found a pair of dark eyes watching her intently, the gentleness of his hand matched by his expression. For the first time in years, she breathed more easily. In those eyes, she found safety.

"Tell me your name," he requested, cleaning the cut on her lower lip.

She looked away then, unsure of how to answer.

"We know you have a voice, woman," the other one spoke gruffly. "We heard you cry out."

"Altair," Malik scolded him.

Something akin to anger stirred within her at his words. "Did you think it was from excitement?" she asked quietly.

Malik looked back at her in surprise, missing the look of shock on Altair's face, and his brother's wide eyes as he glanced between the three of them. Kadar hissed an oath as his hand touched one of the hot rocks in his moment of inattentiveness and Altair leaned forward.

"No, I did not," he replied evenly.

"I have had so many names," she said softly as Malik resumed cleaning the cuts on her face. "None of them were mine."

Malik felt grieved. Her voice sounded weary...sounded _old_. No one so young should have such a voice. Then, he realized that he didn't even know her age.

"What was the name your father gave you?" Kadar asked, and promptly dropped a hot piece of meat into the glowing coals at the fire's edge.

Malik fixed him with an incredulous look. "Kadar, I had you cooking so that we would have _something_ to eat."

"I'm eating that one," Kadar reassured him.

"Along with any others you drop, I'm sure," Altair remarked dryly.

Malik refused to scold him further. The presence of the woman was obviously unsettling to them all.

"I do not remember," she finally answered Kadar's question and all three men started in surprise. "I remember...he always called me his gem...but I do not remember ever hearing my name from his lips."

Malik stared, paralyzed by her words. What child grew up never truly knowing their name? How had she fallen so far that she had lost what little identity she'd had?

"What would you like us to call you?" he asked gently.

She glanced up and met his eyes briefly, as though she was searching for something. When she dropped her gaze, he realized that whatever she had expected to find was absent and he wondered if he should be relieved.

"I do not see how it would be necessary," she said quietly. "Men...do not usually speak to me."

Malik sat back on his heels in shock as he realized what she expected to suffer even now. "We are not like them," he told her, suddenly wishing they had waited and killed the rest when they came searching for their dead comrades.

She looked up again and he saw the smallest glimmer of hope in her eyes. He found himself staying close by her side for the rest of the evening and was pleased to see genuine surprise come over her face when he gave her a portion of his meat and bread and when the others followed suit and shared theirs as well. He saw a shimmer of tears in her eyes, though she looked down to conceal it, and her slender hands trembled as she ate.

"I will take the first watch," Malik said once they finished their meal.

Altair and Kadar nodded and eagerly stretched out on the warm ground to sleep. Altair groaned as his muscles relaxed.

"I will take the second," he said.

Malik nodded and turned to the woman. "You should sleep," he told her gently. "We have a long ride tomorrow."

She nodded and laid down, curled on her side near the fire. As she dozed off, she suddenly felt a weight settle over her body and she stiffened in alarm. A hand gripped her shoulder.

"The desert is cold at night," Malik told her and she realized that he had covered her with his outer robe.

She had lost count of the times he had seen to her most basic needs, even the most trivial. She remembered his warm, dark eyes, odd eyes for an Assassin to have, yet perfect eyes. Her anxiety melted away and she fell asleep listening to the sounds of the crackling fire, the sigh of the wind, and the breathing of the Assassins as they slept.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I wanted to show Malik off in the last chapter and this one. I mean, the man was obviously skilled! He also always struck me as the caring sort, so it makes sense that he would have some 'first-aid' knowledge. Whether that's actually canon, I don't know. But here, he does :)

A/N: Okay *heaves huge sigh* so, I was reviewing my info for this story and I came across the birth year of Malik and Altair aaaannnnd I found a discrepancy, a tiny thing that was threatening to throw everything else out of whack. So, I've been revisiting the chapters, looking for any more evidence of this hateful little error of mine and I think I fixed it. What was this discrepancy, you ask? Well, it had to do with the years of Malik's life, the start and the end and everything between. And since this fic is centered on hiiiimmm, it would be a terrible failing if I didn't do everything in my power to get the important details right and tie everything together properly.

I am working on the next ACTUAL chapter, never fear! But I had to fix this before it haunted my dreams.

* * *

Kadar stomped the smoldering embers and kicked dirt into the ring of stones to prevent the smoke from being seen. The jingle of harnesses and the sound of foreign voices echoed off the hills and rocks.

"Malik," he hissed.

His brother came awake instantly and rolled to his knees, reaching for his dagger. "What is it?" he asked.

"Templars," Kadar said in a hoarse whisper.

"Have they seen us?" Altair asked, rising to a crouch.

Kadar shook his head. "No, but we should go before they do," he said as he readied the horses. Altair and Malik quickly concealed what they could of their stay, scattering the rocks and sticks of the fire and scraping the ground where they had slept to hide the outlines of their forms. The sky was gray as dawn glowed on the edge of the horizon and they knew they had to be as far from the oasis as possible when the sun rose. Malik woke the woman as gently as he could, even though his heart was hammering in his chest. As she sat up and looked up at him, the first ray of sunlight peeked over the distant mountains, illuminating her face and he was struck, not only by the beauty of her smooth skin and fine cheekbones, but also by the innocence in her eyes.

"We must go," he told her in a hushed voice. "Now. Come."

She took his hand and stood and he watched that innocence vanish into dread and anxiety that aged her far beyond her years. He mounted and lifted her up behind him and they set the horses to a canter.

"Scatter," Altair told them. "So they will not have a single trail to follow."

Kadar and Malik nodded and veered off in opposite directions. Malik kicked his mare into a gallop and the familiar landscape vanished behind them. After about a mile, he slowed the horse to a walk and continued. The Arabian chewed her bit in frustration and pranced, wanting to run. He leaned over and patted her neck.

"Easy," he murmured. "Later."

Unbeknownst to him, the woman had peeked around his arm and watched the animal calm under his hand. Then, she realized that she had reacted to him the same way the previous evening.

"Arrogant, foolish-" he muttered under his breath. "I knew they would follow us outside the city..." he shook his head in disgusted frustration. "Are you alright?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

"Yes," she answered quietly.

He wanted a name to call her but knew bringing up the subject would prove fruitless. Then, he remembered a different question that had come to him the previous evening.

"How old are you?" he asked.

Silence followed and he wondered if she had heard him.

"I am sixteen," she replied at last.

He halted the horse and turned to study her in shock. She met his gaze worriedly and held her breath but he merely shook his head and nudged the horse into a walk again.

"Unbelievable," he muttered.

"How should I address you?" she asked after nearly an hour of silence.

Her question surprised him as much as the fact that she had spoken to him. "My name is Malik al-Sayf. You may call me Malik, if you wish."

She nodded, unsure of what to say. She had never called a man by his given name, not even—She squinted her eyes shut to block the memories, unwilling to endure more pain.

As the day grew hotter, Malik paused and checked the position of the sun, worried about the distance they still had to travel and wondering if Altair and Kadar would wait for him. The width of his shoulders suddenly caught her attention as he lifted his hand to shield his eyes and she quickly dropped her gaze in shame. What right had she to notice a man and find him attractive?

"Here, drink," he said, handing her a water skin.

"Thank you," she said softly. She took a few sips and handed it back to him. As he drank, she caught herself watching again, taking in the fine muscles in his hand, the firm line of his jaw, and she wondered how many people ever saw an Assassin like this.

They started off again and before long, the heat and the gentle motion of the horse's gait made her drowsy. She tried to resist, but the effort of holding her eyes open became too great and she dozed off with her head resting between his shoulder blades.

She awoke abruptly to the sound of voices. One belonged to Malik, the other was an old raspy voice she did not recognize at all.

"You travel far, yes?"

"We have come a fair distance," Malik said.

"You have farther to go," the other voice said. "You need supplies? I have many things."

She lifted her head enough to see an old man staring up at the Assassin with a grin that revealed his poor teeth.

"I have no need," Malik said politely. "We do not have much farther to go."

The old man's eyes took on a crafty look. "Your horse is tired," he said. "Hard journey. You like to make journey easier? Leave woman here. I give you good price."

Malik had maintained his relaxed posture throughout the man's insistent badgering. Now, he stiffened in anger though his hood concealed the wrath smoldering in his dark eyes.

The old man smiled, mistaking his reaction for interest. "Beautiful woman, you have. What price?"

Terror gripped her very soul. She knew she was nothing more than a burden, slowing him down, keeping him from his destination. But, surely he would not...

She clung to his robes and pressed her forehead into his back, closing her eyes to stop her tears. "Please," she whispered. "No."

Malik turned his mare so that he was between the woman and the trader. "I will forget you said this," he said, his tone low and dangerous. "Although a fair portion of my mind would like that I not. The woman is not for sale." He turned the horse away and nudged it into a walk.

"Perhaps others buy," the old man called after him. "Perhaps others wish to know about a man with a beautiful woman."

Malik turned back to answer the obvious threat. "You do that, old man, and you will bring the entirety of my brothers' wrath upon you. Crawl back to your hovel with your women and stay there." With that, he spun the horse and cantered away from the caravan, ignoring the pleading looks of many of the women in the carts.

"Thank you," she whispered against his shoulder, sure he had not heard.

Malik did hear her and his temper burned hotter as he realized that she had expected him to leave her at the caravan. He was sure such a thing had happened in her past and questions burned in his mind, but he stayed his tongue. Asking her now would not grant him answers and so they rode in silence.

By late afternoon, their destination came within sight and he increased their pace. As they drew near the tower, he heard a shrill whistle and saw Altair's white stallion and his brother's brown mare tethered nearby. Kadar gave an excited shout when he saw them.

"We were beginning to worry," he said when Malik reined his mare to a halt.

"We were delayed by a caravan," Malik replied and dismounted. The woman slid off as well, then leaped back with a horrified gasp when Altair landed in a hay pile at the foot of the tower. Malik looked back at her and felt a stab of remorse for her fright.

"You don't need to worry," he told her.

Altair came striding over to them, dusting hay off of his clothing. "Were you followed?" he asked, either ignoring or oblivious to the woman's wide-eyed expression as she stared at him.

"No," Malik answered. "But we did pass a caravan and I wouldn't trust its owner with a dog. We need to keep moving.

"You only just arrived," Kadar said. "She needs to rest." He looked at the mare.

"Reaching Masyaf is a more immediate need," Altair told him as he mounted his stallion.

Kadar frowned. "She can ride with me," he said, gesturing to the woman. "My horse is more rested."

She stared up at the tower, just able to see the beam that the Assassin must have perched on like an eagle. Her heart hammered in her chest as she remembered seeing him land in the hay from such a height and yet, she felt curious. She turned when a hand gripped her arm and found herself looking up into Malik's tanned face.

"You will have to ride with my brother this time," he told her.

She looked from him to the other man apprehensively, then she turned back to Malik, her midnight eyes pleading with him. Malik nodded reassuringly and led her over to Kadar.

"Wait," she said suddenly and stopped, looking back the way they had come.

The men looked at her curiously and Altair stood in his stirrups, peering into the distance. He growled an oath. "You were followed," he told Malik.

"How many?" Malik asked, ignoring the accusation in Altair's voice.

"Ten or more," Altair replied, studying the rising cloud of dust as the sound of hoof-beats reached his ears.

"How close are they?" Kadar asked.

"Close enough to be seen and heard," Malik answered grimly. "We cannot lead them back to Masyaf."

Altair clenched his jaw in frustration, refusing to believe that the soldiers from Damascus had followed them this far. He dismounted and slapped the horse's rump, sending it trotting away. Malik and Kadar did the same.

"You need to hide somewhere," Malik told the woman, wondering if such a thing would be possible. They had to be fully visible to their pursuers as they rode up the hill.

"There is no time," Altair growled as the sound of the hoof-beats grew louder with every passing second. When the soldiers suddenly came into view, he swore under his breath. "Pierre Delacroix."

The Assassins exchanged concerned glances. The French Templar had a reputation of running down anyone unfortunate enough to step in front of his mount and they prepared to leap out of the way, expecting the horsemen to charge. Instead, the knights approached almost leisurely and Pierre halted them with a languid wave of his hand when they were within speaking distance.

"I count fifteen," Malik said quietly, looking at the ground to conceal the fact that he was speaking.

"So, we finally have the three curs that caused such havoc in Damascus," he smirked down at the Assassins. "We had almost given up the search, until we found the men you left to bloat in the sun." His gaze swiveled to Malik. "And I'm not sure how attached you are to that woman, but I'll have you know that she belongs to me." He held up a leather thong that looked startlingly like a leash. "The men you murdered were delivering her to me as payment."

Malik pushed the woman behind him protectively, his hand hovering next to his throwing knives. "Payment for what?" he growled.

The Templar sat back in his saddle, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his thin mouth. "Ah, something the Assassins do not know. And to think there are those who worried that you knew my business better than I. You cannot help but meddle, but do you truly intend to interfere in such a trivial matter as this? I performed a service. My services cost. But, well, the payment never arrived. I am a patient man, but this was trying."

Malik's blood boiled in his veins and he could feel her hands gripping his robes in a silent plea. "How did you find us?" he demanded through gritted teeth.

The Templar shrugged as though the matter was trivial. "A rather helpful old man in a caravan some miles back said a white-robed man with a beautiful woman had ridden past. He seemed most distressed that he had not been allowed to purchase the woman but I soothed those pangs. What you Assassins will never know is that to those who are loyal to me, I am benevolent. Even to you. As of this moment I am content to merely claim what is mine. Hand the woman over to my men and I will be merciful."

The three men stiffened and snarled, remembering watching men in Damascus be forced to choose between being flayed alive or torn in half by horses. Or if Pierre was in a generous mood, being gutted like fresh game and left to bleed.

Altair spat in contempt. "Merciful," he snarled. "We have seen your methods of mercy and they are anything but."

"Well, some find them preferable to the alternative," Pierre replied. "I have kept men at the edge of death for weeks. Perhaps that is more to your liking." He turned to his men. "Kill them and bring me the woman."

The soldiers charged and metal flashed in the sunlight as Altair and Malik threw their blades. Four men fell from their horses as the vicious knives found throats and eyes and Malik managed to throw two more before the others were upon them. The effect was more than they had hoped for. Not only were the soldiers unnerved by the deadly accuracy of the throwing knives, but more than one attempted to avoid running over the wounded on the ground. Those few precious seconds allowed the Assassins to dodge the horses and either send a knife spinning into the back of the rider, or cut the saddle free.

"Run!" Malik shouted and shoved the woman away from him. No sooner had she taken two steps, one of the soldiers charged by and grabbed her with a triumphant cry that ended abruptly in a gurgle as Malik's last knife buried itself in his throat. He dragged the woman off the horse with him as he fell, drowning in his blood.

The knights were significantly less confident when forced to face the Assassins on foot. The three men stood back to back, facing their opponents, daring the Templars to brave their blades. Thundering hoof-beats startled them and they looked up to see Pierre charging them. They leaped out of the way as the man rode through, forcing his own men to scramble out of his path. The soldiers found their courage once the Assassins were separated from each other and they attacked viciously. Altair faced his enemies with cold eyes and struck them down with contempt. Malik's blood was running hot as he glared into the leering faces of the soldiers. As he killed one, then another, he caught sight of Kadar in a battle of his own against three of the men. Then, the heat coursing through him turned to icy dread as Pierre left his horse and advanced toward his brother. Ironically, Kadar would have had a better chance of surviving a fight with Pierre if the knight had remained mounted.

"Kadar!" he shouted over the din, desperate to make his brother aware of approaching threat.

Kadar looked up at the sound of Malik's cry and saw Pierre stalking him. The three soldiers became visibly braver in the presence of their leader and they attacked again, forcing the Assassin to give ground. As he knocked one man away, he turned to face his next opponent and barely raised his dagger in time to deflect Pierre's downward stroke. The knight's sword slid down the length of Kadar's knife with a screech and sparks, scoring the blade. Pierre withdrew as quickly as he had attacked and the other men rushed to finish the fight.

Malik slashed and stabbed at his attackers, thinking only of reaching Kadar before Pierre tired of playing with him. The soldiers danced in and out of reach, leering and taunting him.

"You should have given him the woman," one told him. "He would have killed you first, then. Now, you'll watch him cut that one to bloody ribbons."

Malik forced himself to focus on the men in front of him instead of the battle happening yards away. He only had to kill these and then he and Kadar would kill Pierre. He forced himself to remember that even though Kadar wore the gray sleeves of a novice, he was a capable fighter.

However, once Pierre's amusement faded, Kadar would be a dead man.

The woman dragged herself free of the soldier's dead weight. The man's dull eyes stared up at the sky, his face frozen into a look of pain and terror, his hand curled from clutching at his throat. She gripped the knife handle and the wound made a wet, sucking sound as the blade slid free.

"Kadar!"

She looked up at the sound of Malik's voice and saw the men engaged in a bloody battle with the soldiers. Many of them lay dead or dying and she searched for Pierre's body, desperately hoping to see him among the carnage. Instead, she spied him approaching Malik's brother as he fought three other men. She watched as he taunted the Assassin with his attacks and retreats and anger suddenly burned hot in her deadened spirit.

Kadar slashed the throat of the last soldier and turned to face Pierre, sweat pouring down his face and his breathing fast and ragged. The casual strength behind Pierre's taunting attacks had jarred his entire body every time he blocked or deflected a blow. Even if he'd been fully rested, he knew he could not best the Templar in a fight and with the certainty of his death came a grim determination to leave his mark on Pierre, to make sure, before he died, that the Templar felt pain.

"I commend you," Pierre told him. "I almost regret that you must die today."

Kadar curled his lip and spat in the sand, raising his dagger and a sword he'd grabbed from a dead Templar.

Pierre smiled. "Oh, yes, I truly regret it." He leaped forward and thrust his sword toward Kadar's chest with the speed of a cobra. Kadar spun to the side and ducked as Pierre followed his thrust with a backhanded strike. Kadar felt the closeness of the blade as it passed over his head and he dove forward and rolled to his feet, hoping to come at the knight from behind. As he stood, the tip of the sword sliced through his tunic and grazed his chest. Then, the blade hummed down toward his neck and he dove to the side with a startled cry, his mouth dry with fear. He no longer had a strategy to kill Pierre, he was only avoiding the man's terrifying speed. He felt as though he was running away and the thought angered him almost past the point of reason. He would leave the Brotherhood before he ran from a battle! Pierre swung again and Kadar dodged away and instantly realized his mistake. Pierre had him cornered at the base of the cliff and there was nowhere for him to go.

Pierre spun his sword with a smug flourish. "A commendable effort," he purred. "Yet, a vain one." He finished and swung his sword. Kadar raised his own sword to block the strike and realized too late that attack had been a feint. Pierre reversed the movement with a flick of his wrist and Kadar's sword went flying with the warbling clang of beaten metal.

Pierre smiled. "The others will join you shortly."

Kadar met his gaze defiantly, refusing to beg, refusing to show fear.

Pierre seemed to reconsider his statement. "Well, at least one of them will. Whoever is left will have to bear the brunt of my aggravation over this whole affair."

Kadar nearly lost himself to rage at the thought of Malik or Altair captured and at the mercy of this monster. Suddenly, an unearthly shriek split the air and the woman they had rescued dove on Pierre's back and drove a dagger into the junction of his right shoulder and neck. Pierre roared with pain, flung the woman off by her hair and, in the same reactive movement, swung his sword up, slicing up the length of her back. She screamed in pain as she fell and the ground immediately turned red beneath her. Pierre wrenched the dagger free, swapped his sword from his right to his left and advanced on the woman in a black rage.

"Oh, you will regret that," he growled.

"Yaaah!" Kadar cried as he leaped forward and plunged his curved dagger deep under Pierre's left arm. The Templar froze, then slowly collapsed to the ground. Kadar immediately scrambled over Pierre's body to the woman. She whimpered when he touched her and tried to flinch away.

"Kadar!" Malik shouted as he ran up.

"Malik, she's injured!" Kadar told him. "We have to stop the bleeding."

Malik knelt by her head and took off his outer robe. "Kadar, we need a fire and water boiled," he instructed.

Kadar nodded and dashed off at a staggering run to gather what wood he could find. Malik spread his robe beside the woman and he and Altair lifted her onto it to carry her away from the carnage. She groaned with every movement and when they laid her down around the bend, in the shadow of the cliff, she cried out in pain. Altair let out a piercing whistle that brought the horses to them at a trot. He rummaged through Malik's pack and found a meager supply of bandages, herbs, and a needle and thread.

"I have to see the wound," Malik told her in a low voice. "Do you understand what I'll have to do?"

She nodded tightly, grinding her teeth in agony, and when he touched her back, tears pooled in the corners of her clenched eyes. He peeled back the layers of cloth as gently as he could, baring the gash that scored her back. The blade had been sharp, so the wound would heal relatively cleanly once he sutured it, but it had bled so much and was still bleeding. Suddenly, he realized that he wasn't seeing the entire wound and he peeled back the rest of her torn clothing. The cut went from the small of her back to the bottom of her neck and he couldn't help but groan, thinking about what he would have to do.

She shivered with the exposure of her skin and a hundred horrible memories flooded her mind. When the tears came, they were not from the injury pouring hot blood down her back but from a score of fatal wounds to her soul. When she heard the voices of the other Assassins, she squirmed beneath Malik's touch, knowing that no man should see her in such a state.

Malik put his hand on her shoulder and shushed her gently. "I know," he told her and somehow, she knew he did. "This is going to be incredibly painful," he said regretfully.

A small laugh escaped her and the noise held a hint of hysteria. The three men exchanged concerned looks. Each of them had sustained at least one minor injury during the battle, Kadar sported a black eye, a bloodied nose and his tunic was cut cleanly across the front and tinted red. Altair had a gash across the upper part of his left arm and walked with a small limp on his right leg. Malik had paid dearly for his distraction during the fight. His head throbbed where one of the soldiers had punched him and a gash across his left hip made every movement difficult.

"What were you thinking?" Malik murmured as he rinsed the blood off her back with the water from his flask. He needed the water Kadar was heating to sufficiently clean the wound but he had to see just how severe it was. With much of the blood gone, he saw the white of bone peeking between the edges of the gash where the sword had raked across her ribs and backbone. He suddenly wondered how he was going to suture the injury. She was so thin that the outline of her skeleton was easy to see and he worried that the sutures would simply tear loose.

"He has killed too many," she answered hoarsely. "Taken too much..."

"Kadar?" Malik asked, casting a glance at his brother.

"The water is almost hot," Kadar assured him.

"Malik?" she whispered his name painfully.

He moved into her line of sight and she tried to reach for him, but only had the strength to stretch her fingers to their limit. He took her hand to comfort her and found himself marveling at the determined strength of her grip even now in her malnourished, weakened state.

"I...do not...want-"

He shushed her again. "You will be alright," he promised, wishing again, that he knew her name. He looked up at Kadar and his brother nodded. Malik turned his attention back to the woman. He let go of her hand and lifted her head gently, coaxing her to drink some water from his flask. Then, he cradled her head in his palm.

The strength in his hands calmed her and she relaxed in the security of his grip. When he started speaking again, she searched the shadow of his hood to find his eyes. His gaze was filled with such concern, such pain, that she realized her craving for death had truly vanished, replaced by a desire to see those eyes smile.

"When Kadar and I were children-" he never finished the statement. The moment he felt her completely relax, he drove his thumb into the soft spot at the base of her skull, rendering her unconscious.

* * *

A/N: I have to say, I've always wondered why the people reacted to Altair jumping over a box but never reacted to him leaping from towers (and that honking big cathedral!) and landing in hay piles. It was like "Oh, we didn't notice the man falling ten stories and more but how dare he jump over that stack of boxes!" Oh well, they didn't ask me.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Has anybody ever wondered about the Assassin's wives? How are they treated, especially after their husbands died? I decided to answer that question for myself :)

* * *

When they arrived in Masyaf two days later, the horses barely managed to trudge into the stable, their heads hung low and their legs trembling with exhaustion.

Malik kicked his feet free of the stirrups and slid off the side of his mount, the woman in his arms. She made no noise when his boots hit the ground, hadn't made a sound for the last day of the ride. Her skin burned with fever and her breathing was fast and shallow.

"Report to Al-Mualim," Malik told Altair. "I must find Hashima."

Altair left without a word but Kadar lingered. "Malik, your wound-"

"Go and have your injuries tended, brother," Malik told him as he strode out of the stable. He hurried through the village, praying Hashima would be home. The little house had rarely looked more welcoming as he rushed to the door. His own injuries throbbed and he was out of breath but he kicked the door with the toe of his boot several times and hoped Hashima would forgive him for getting her door dirty. The door creaked open and a pair of young, dark eyes peered at him nervously.

"Yes?" the girl asked softly.

"I need to see Hashima," Malik told her. "It is urgent."

Either the girl didn't notice the woman in his arms, or she ignored the fact. "She is not back from the market, yet." She started to close the door.

Malik put his foot into the shrinking gap. "Please, I have to see Hashima," he told her again.

"What do you have to see me about, Malik?"

He turned to see an older woman walking up the road. A tendril of gray hair escaped her shawl and hung down in front of her lined face. Her dark eyes were faded with her sixty years though her features held the echo of long-lost youthful beauty. The most striking part of her appearance however, was the red sash around her waist. Her husband Umar had lost his life thirty years ago to a Templar's arrow and his sash marked her as a sister to the Brotherhood. She had never remarried, believing that no other man would ever be able to forgive her, as Umar had, for being unable to bear children.

"She's injured," Malik replied. "I think the wound is infected."

Hashima walked up and touched the young woman's cheek, clucking her tongue in concern. "Come inside," she said and pushed the door open. Malik followed her, making a point not to look at the young housekeeper shrinking back from his presence. He was bothered that the girl was so terrified of him and angry that she refused to allow him entrance.

"She took a blade across her back," Malik explained as he laid the woman down on a pile of blankets.

"How did this happen?" Hashima asked.

Malik could feel the old woman's eyes staring at the back of his head. "We were attacked on the road," he said.

Hashima shook her head and knelt by the young woman. "What is her name?"

Malik paused. "I do not know."

"You do not know?" Hashima repeated in surprise, and disapproval.

"She...had no name to give me," he answered slowly.

Hashima's faded eyes widened in horror and she caressed the girl's feverish cheek. "Poor girl," she murmured. "And the men responsible for this are..."

"Dead," Malik replied with satisfaction. "Some of them, at least."

Hashima nodded her approval, then she frowned curiously at the robe the young woman wore. "Your robe, Malik?"

"I had nothing else to cover her with," he said.

Hashima stood and began shooing Malik toward the door. "She will be fine," she told him. "You may return tomorrow to see about her, if you wish." She all but pushed Malik outside and closed the door behind him. As he walked away, he found himself looking back repeatedly, both worried and hopeful. He forced his feet to take him back to the fortress when he only wanted to linger outside the little house and wait for Hashima to tell him when she awoke.

Mere moments after he had gone, the door opened again and this time, it was the young housekeeper Hashima put outside.

"Never," Hashima said sharply. "Never are they to be turned away from my door."

"I am sorry!" the girl whined. "They make me nervous!"

"Nervous? Pah! How many months have you been here, girl? And the moment I am gone is the moment you turn them away? Without even a glance at the dying woman in his arms? No." With that, Hashima closed the door.

She tended the young woman's wound with slow care, missing no detail in the injury and leaving nothing to chance. If she did not think it was clean enough, she washed it again. If an area of the skin looked too saturated with infection, she cut it away. For hours, she worked and talked, filling the air with her age-deepened voice as she spoke of days long over, of her beloved Umar, of her favorite songs from her childhood, and she sang as though the woman were a fretful babe she was putting to bed. And later, as dusk fell and she finally finished, she spoke of Malik.

"The boy is worried about you," she said as she bathed the young woman's face with a cool cloth. "So, you see, you must recover if only to prove that his efforts weren't in vain. It's good for him to have someone to worry about. The Master may say that a family would weaken an Assassin but I do not believe so. My husband performed his duty well and it was his duty that took him from me. He told me one night, that I was what had made him stronger. I laughed at him. What was I but a barren woman he'd been foolish enough to take to wife? Yet, he loved me well, and I will never love another. But Malik, he is young still. Yes, it is a good thing."

When Malik finally limped into the fortress, Kadar was waiting for him.

"Will she be alright?"

Malik nodded wearily and continued on his way to the physician's quarters. As the old man stitched his wound, Malik's mind wandered to the woman.

 _What is her name?!_

The question was driving him mad. Then, another question overlaid that one.

 _Why would she risk death for one of us?_

She could not have developed such a loyalty to them so quickly. Perhaps after a few months among them, but not after only a day.

And yet, she obviously had.


	4. Chapter 4

"How long have I been here?"

Hashima looked at the young woman in her care with a mixture of relief and pity. For two weeks she had lain unconscious while the fever scorched her frail body and after it had broken, another week went by before she was even remotely coherent. During that time, she had talked. Talked about things both wonderful and horrifying and Hashima was once again glad the Templars had suffered the fate they had. The scars on the girl's body were nothing compared to the scars in her spirit and Hashima regarded her with a level of wonder. So many others would have taken their own lives before suffering even a piece of her torment and yet, she lived.

"Three weeks, child," Hashima answered. "Although you probably will never remember the first two." She waited patiently for the next, inevitable question.

"Where is Malik?"

Hashima concealed a smile by looking down at the tub as she poured in another pot of hot water. "I imagine he is at the fortress," she said. "That is where the Assassins stay until they are sent to the cities."

"He is...alright?"

"He is fine, child," Hashima assured her. "The Master has already sent him on two missions since he returned."

"Kadar and Altair?"

"They have recovered as well," Hashima replied. "Come, child. The water is warm."

As the young woman slid out of her clothes, Hashima clenched her jaw to keep from reacting to her emaciated form. Even tending her wound, the old woman had not truly seen the full, horrific extent of her captivity. The girl was, quite literally, skin and bones. The little softness she may have retained had been burned away by her fever. Hashima steadied the girl as she stepped into the water and began bathing her with gentle hands. When she started to lather her hair, she stopped. The girl's long, dark tresses were hopelessly matted. Sighing, Hashima left the room and returned a moment later with a pair of shears. The young woman gasped in horror.

"No, please," she begged. "Not my hair."

"I am sorry, child," Hashima told her. "There is nothing else to be done."

"Not my hair," she whimpered.

"It will grow back in time," Hashima promised.

Tears fell down the girl's cheeks as she listened to the rasp of the shears and felt the weight of her hair disappear.

Once she was bathed and clothed in fresh garments, Hashima fed her hot stew and ignored when the girl touched her shorn head with trembling hands. Her cheekbones were sharp in her gaunt face, but the light of life in her dark eyes revealed an unexpected strength. Hashima had little doubt that the girl would recover completely from her ordeals and was certain that a husband would help wonderfully.

Days of regular sleep and food began to quickly fill in the sparseness of the girl's body and within a month, it was difficult to see that she ever been so close to death. As she regained her strength, she began to help Hashima with chores around the house. While she was not strong enough yet to make the journey to the market, she started taking the laundry to the creek and took great pride in bringing them back looking nearly as fresh as new cloth. However, she only went when there were no other women around, unable to ignore the condemnation she felt radiating from the people of the village.

On a particularly fine afternoon, she knelt on the creek bank, scrubbing one of Hashima's robes and humming contentedly as the sun warmed her back.

"You look well."

Startled, she spun around to find Malik standing behind her and she immediately breathed easier. "As do you," she replied. "You are, aren't you?"

An easy smile parted his lips. "My wounds were not severe," he assured her. She did indeed look well. Her face was free of pain and the harsh lines of her body had been replaced with gentle curves. She practically glowed with health but her eyes were unchanged. Serious, wise and searching. "What do you look for?" he asked. "What do you expect to see in me?"

His question startled her and her full lips tightened into an anxious line. "What I have always seen when men look at me."

He approached her slowly until the space between them was only an arm's length. "Do you truly expect me to... _use_ you in such a way?" he asked, his voice pained. He had hoped she would trust him a little more than that.

"I did," she answered. "But...you seem to see me differently. How can you?"

"You are no Templar harlot," he told her firmly, "only a victim of their cruelty." As he said the words, it seemed that a small part of her soul settled back into place and certain amount of peace returned to her.

"How can I repay the kindness you've given me?" she asked softly.

He smiled gently. "There is nothing to repay," he replied. He glanced over his shoulder at the road leading to the fortress. "I must return." He turned to leave.

"Malik?" she called after him after he'd gone several steps.

"Yes?" he faced her again.

Her heart pounded in her chest and she couldn't catch her breath. "May I ask something of you?" she asked timidly.

"Of course," he answered and walked back to her.

Her mouth opened but her throat tightened and choked off all sound. "I...I would...like very much..." she stammered helplessly but was determined to finish her query. "Would...would you...be willing to...give me a name?"

His entire body radiated surprise at her question. Then, a tender smile filled his dark eyes and he cocked his head to one side, studying her. "I would be honored," he said at last. "Allow me some time to consider it carefully."

She nodded, convinced she would never be able to speak again and as he walked away, she allowed herself the briefest moment to study the lean lines of his body, the certainty of his stride, the precision of his steps.

"So many names, each one from a different man to show he owned me, however temporarily," she whispered as tears stung her eyes and burned her throat. "I would have one from your lips, Malik al-Sayf, though it will most likely be the only thing I ever have from you."

As the days passed, she saw Malik more often, although they did not speak as often as she would have preferred. Usually, when she saw him, he was in the company of other Assassins in the village or schooling the novices in the field outside the walls. She'd followed him outside the village one afternoon and found herself mesmerized by his confident instruction to the young Assassins. After a time, she realized that she was not only watching Malik, but that she was closely observing the younger men as they ran, dodged boulders, trees and other various obstacles while ducking the rocks he threw at them. She was not sure which was worse when they failed, the physical pain, or his cold reprimands. At the same time, something bothered her, like a chill breeze that finds its way down the neck of your shirt and yet, you cannot find its source. Then, that evening as she ate supper with Hashima, she realized what it was.

"You do an old woman an honor, child," the old woman was saying. "Never have I seen a youngster perform such menial chores with such content. One could almost be fooled into believing that you are actually happy with such an existence. You will make a man a fine wife one day."

She froze. That was it. No man would ever take her to wife, not if she were the last woman on earth. Especially not an Assassin, nor a man affiliated with them and that was all there was in this village. Her heart sank and she tried to find some consolation in the fact that it was just as well. She had been unfit to be a wife before the Templars had had her.

The next afternoon as she left to wash the laundry, she was still so preoccupied with her thoughts that she did not notice three other women standing on the bank until it was too late to avoid them. She ducked her head and skirted the group, hoping they would leave her in peace.

"You've never told us your name," one of them called to her.

"She does not have one, Nadia," another answered snidely. "That's the first thing a Templar takes from a woman."

Her first reaction was to demand how the woman could possibly know such a thing, unless she'd tasted her share of Templar cruelty, as well. She stayed her tongue and concentrated on her laundry, not wishing to antagonize them and make the situation worse.

"We've seen you talking to the Assassins," the third woman announced as though she'd caught a child stealing sweets. "Especially the one...what is his name? Malik al-Sayf?"

She clenched her jaw at the fabrication. She _only_ spoke to Malik and she would not have his name soiled by gossip. "He is kind to me," she answered softly.

"I'm sure he is," Nadia replied with an arrogant lift of her chin. "The lepers in the city also speak of him so."

At that, she paused and looked the woman in the eye. "Of that, I have no doubt," she replied.

Shock rippled through the group and the women briefly whispered among themselves. They seemed miffed that their barbed words failed to elicit the desired reaction and they turned away with hateful whispers and poisonous looks.

Her scrubbing was nearly reflexive as her thoughts wandered into dim places. She had no place here...or was it this place had no spot for her? The shadow of a desire began to form in the back of her mind, too small and insubstantial for her to even identify it.

A hand touched her shoulder and she gasped.

"Are you alright?"

Malik. She relaxed with a nervous laugh. "I am...fine," she answered.

"I called to you three times," he said, concern in his voice.

"I was...lost in thought," she replied.

"Ah," he nodded, then looked past her at the other women. "What did they say?"

She was surprised to hear the protective undertone in his question. "Nothing of consequence," she told him. She started to turn and look at them, feeling the disgust in their eyes.

His grip on her shoulder tightened. "Do not look at them," he commanded in a low voice. He fixed the women with a dangerous glare and they quickly left the creek with their laundry half washed. "They would not survive an hour of what you suffered, and yet they would elevate themselves above you," she could hear the snarl in his voice.

She bowed her head. "I am not so certain I have survived," she said quietly.

He knelt beside her. "You are alive."

"There is more to survival than being alive," she replied morosely. "And even then, how can I say that I am truly alive when I live every moment in fear?"

"Are you always afraid?" he asked.

A soft smile touched her face and she had to concede. "No, not always."

"I say you are alive for more reasons than that you breathe," he told her. "You are firm, difficult to intimidate and refuse to reveal when you are. You are happy with the life you have, however small it may be. And you are curious, wishing to learn. One who is dead does not feel fear or happiness in any amount and certainly does not care for learning about the world around them. And they would never risk their life for another."

She ducked her head, embarrassed by his praise. "I could not have stood by idly," she said.

"Your actions need no explanation," he told her. "Especially, not by way of disowning them."

She looked at him in surprise. Was he scolding her?

"You made a choice that day," he continued. "You did not act under compulsion, nor order. You chose. And that, is definite evidence of life."

A blush was working its way up her neck and her cheeks felt warm. When had a man ever elicited such a reaction from her?

"I've seen you watching us as we train," he said.

Her blush faded and she glanced at him furtively. "Is that forbidden?"

"No. Unusual, perhaps, but not forbidden."

She could hear the amusement in his voice and could not help but smile herself.

Malik watched her with something akin to awe. He had looked into her eyes and seen the scars on her soul, he had watched her bleed for Kadar, for him. Losing his brother would have been the cruelest blow. So many wounds and yet, as she sat on the creek bank scrubbing laundry, there was a quiet calm about her, a regal air that defied her years of torment and suddenly, he had a name.

"Aliyah," he said.

She looked at him curiously.

He nodded to himself, confirming his decision. "That is your name."

She looked down again, trying to hide the fact that she was unable to breathe.

"Unless, you disapprove?" he asked gently.

"I am unworthy of such a name," she answered. _Sublime, he has named me. Exalted. Me?_

"I find it befitting," he replied.

She finally met his eyes. "Thank you," she said softly

"Malik?" Kadar called his name. "Ah, there you are." He jogged to the creek. "The Master has an assignment for you." He handed Malik a small scroll.

"I shall leave immediately," Malik replied after briefly scanning the contents. "I am to travel alone this time?"

"Apparently," Kadar answered. "Altair is otherwise assigned and I...well, the Master still finds me too lacking to accompany you on this task."

"Even after you survived Pierre Delacroix?" Malik asked incredulously.

Kadar shrugged indifferently. "Perhaps if I had killed him without assistance, I might have been raised to a higher rank."

Aliyah looked away, ashamed that she was the reason he still wore the gray of a novice.

"No," Kadar told her, his voice alarmed. "Forgive me, I did not mean those words as they sounded. I will forever be indebted to you."

"And it is that debt that inhibits your advancement among your peers," she said quietly.

"My advancement is not so inhibited," he said with a proud grin. "I am no longer among the novices."

She looked up at him and saw that, indeed, his garb was different than when she saw him last.

"Aliyah, you saved his life," Malik told her firmly. "There is no shame for him and no one who will not admire you for that."

"Aliyah?" Kadar looked from her to Malik in confusion. Then, his expression cleared. "Ah, a fitting name," he said warmly.

She felt a blush rising into her cheeks again. "So he said," she replied, looking at her shoes.

"You don't agree?" Kadar asked in surprise.

She looked at the two brothers. "It may take some time for me to become accustomed to it."

Kadar nodded, satisfied with her answer. "Safety and peace, brother," he said casually to Malik as he walked back toward the fortress.

Malik shook his head in disapproval. "His admiration for Altair results in an ever decreasing attentiveness to respect and guidance. I fear the day he no longer heeds my words. I hope to find you well upon my return," he said to her.

She nodded. "Safety and peace, Malik." The words sent a thrill humming through her veins and she wondered how he could not hear her heart pounding.

He inclined his head gratefully. "And upon you as well."

As he walked away, she reached out as though to call him back, then closed her hand, forbidding herself to ever take such an action. The ashes of a child's dream floated in her mind as she remembered how dutiful she had been in her lessons, only wanting to become the perfect wife of a good man, and then, by consequence, the perfect mother to their children. That dream had long been burned away and she tasted the bitterness of its remains as she watched Malik leave, the good man she had always envisioned when fantasizing about her future as such a wife. She realized with a pang that there truly was no place for her in this world and tears stung her eyes.

"Safety and peace, Malik," she repeated.

Suddenly, her tears ceased as the words thrilled through her once more and the world seemed to settle solidly around her for the first time in years. The shadow of desire that had passed over her mind as she knelt on the creek bank returned, solidified, and she knew what impossible thing she wanted.


	5. Chapter 5

"Is this something you could teach me?"

Malik stared at her, shocked into speechlessness. He had seen her watching the novices train from the shade of a nearby tree. When the young men had left the field to return to the fortress, he had greeted her warmly and she then posed the most startling question he had ever heard.

"Is it forbidden?" she asked when silence met her first question.

"It...has never been done," he said. "Why—what has possessed you to ask such a question?"

"There is no place in this world for me. Not as I am," she explained. "So, I would like to become something new."

He drew the breath to tell her it could not be done, that it was not a world for a woman. Then, he saw the raw hope in her eyes at the thought of a new beginning, the certainty that if she did not become something, she would waste away as nothing. He could not steal that hope. He could not watch her eyes fill with emptiness again.

He sighed. "Are you familiar with the lightning struck tree outside the walls?"

She nodded, recalling the massive, blackened trunk.

"Meet me there tonight," he told her.

"What time?" she asked.

"As soon as you can arrive," he replied and walked back toward the fortress.

Her heart fluttered in her chest for the rest of the day. She would have to sneak away from Hashima's home in order to meet Malik and the woman was an incredibly light sleeper. Then, she realized that Malik must know that and a certain determination filled her when she realized also that he was giving her first test. If she could not sneak away from an old woman, she certainly had no business learning anything he could teach her.

As evening fell, she thought of every possible way to leave the house undetected. The door creaked and the shutters slammed back against the house whenever she opened them. Then, as she gathered up the freshly dried laundry, pausing to enjoy the warm breeze, her plan came to her. After she put the laundry away, she went to the room Hashima had given her and opened the shutters. As she expected, the leather hinges held the wooden pieces to the walls but did not stop them from hitting the house. She tore off four strips of cloth from her scarf, tied each into a knot and slid them between the shutters and the walls at the top and bottom. Then, she tested the idea. When she closed and opened the shutters a second time, the cloth knot stopped them from hitting the house.

 _Now, to wait for nightfall._

Hashima retired by sunset, as usual and Aaliyah cleaned their dishes from supper. Then, she went to her room, moved her pallet from against the wall to under the window. As she sat on the blankets and waited, the golden light in the room faded to twilight, then darkness, then the silver light of the moon peeked between the shutters. Pulling on a dark robe and scarf, she stood and turned to the window, the floor made no noise as she moved but she paused before she opened the shutters. The last thing she needed was for one of the nosy women from the village to see her leave and they were spiteful enough to spy even at such a late hour. She waited until a cloud covered the full moon and then she climbed through the window, closed the shutters and darted to a nearby tree as the cloud slid by. She waited for what seemed like an eternity for another cloud and when one came, she ran with it as it crossed the sky, dodging from shadow to shadow as she made her way to the wall.

Her heart suddenly slammed up into her throat. How was she going to get through the gate? The guards locked it each night and she could not scale it. Surely Malik knew that? As she crept up to the wall, she saw something that made her sigh with relief. She had forgotten about the guard's door next to the gate. The door suddenly opened and she flattened herself against the rough stone, willing herself to be invisible. A man stepped out and stretched and waved at another man coming down the road.

 _The guard is changing,_ she realized and forced herself to breathe slowly and quietly.

Their voices were too low for her to hear their conversation, but soon, the first man left and his replacement walked inside.

The door squeaked as he opened it but only after he'd opened it so wide. She had maybe a foot or two she could slip through without making any noise. As she approached, she kicked something hard but too light to be a rock. She knelt and felt in the grass and her hand closed around a key. Curious and suspicious as to why a key would be lying in the grass outside the guard's door, she looked around and studied every shadow and listened to every tiny noise. Could Malik have left it? She would have to take that chance.

She listened at the door, hearing men's voices on the other side and waited until they had faded away. Ever so gently, she eased the door open, slid through the narrow opening and hid in the doorway, listening again. No sound reached her and she peeked down the corridor. No one in sight. She darted across to the other door and tugged on the handle. This one was locked. She slid the key into the lock and it clicked open. As she slipped back outside, she locked the door behind her. The guard would raise the alarm if they found a door unlocked that wasn't meant to be.

The moon didn't cast a shadow on this side of the wall so she hid in the doorway a second time, waiting on a cloud to pass by. As luck would have it, the next cloud to cover the moon was huge and she made it to the blackened tree without having to stop. She paused in in the tree's shadow, gasping for breath and holding her sides. Suddenly, she saw movement out of the corner of her eye and before she could move, a hand covered her mouth and a strong arm wrapped around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides.

"The air is still. They will hear the smallest noise even from here," a voice breathed against her ear.

Malik!

She sighed and relaxed and he released her. For the briefest moment they stood there, he in light, she in the shadow, each indistinguishable from their elements.

"Come," Malik said and led her further down the hill, out of sight of the wall. Then, he took her through a narrow ravine and into a grotto.

"Can we be found here?" she asked softly.

"Only if someone searches for this place specifically," he replied. He turned away from her and she saw that his entire body was rigid with anxiety. "Have you no fear, at all?" he asked incredulously after a moment.

She nearly answered him with a no, but stopped when she realized that there was one thing left she feared. "Very little," she answered.

He shook his head, more at his own foolishness for agreeing to—no, arranging this clandestine meeting—than at her audacity to make such a request. "You realize, if we are discovered, I will be hanged and you will be stoned."

She could not think of a reply to give him and though his hood cast his face in shadow, she could see his mouth pressed into a thin, anxious line.

"The Master will have to give his consent before you can receive training," Malik told her. "If he does, the others will not allow you time to learn our craft. They will focus on nothing else except forcing you to give up this aspiration."

"I understand," she said.

Malik studied the firm, determined set of her jaw and truly doubted her words. "Strike me," he commanded.

His words caught her by surprise and in the moment of her hesitation, he dashed forward and gripped her throat, his hand nearly encircling her neck entirely.

"No, you do not understand," he warned her. "They will not give you the opportunity to learn. They will do nothing but beat you brutally, daily, to make you realize and accept that a woman has no place in our world. You will not only be held in contempt, you will be hated, despised. There might be a few who would not, but even they will obey the commands of their masters in the training ring." His hand moved from her throat to her chin. "Even if they wish you no harm, they will not hesitate to do so. And neither can you. Do you understand that?"

She saw the truth of his words in the pain in his eyes. The others would most certainly hate her for even wanting such a thing. Their only joy would come from beating and humiliating her again and again. She would have no chance to learn the craft. They would not allow her to learn to defend herself against the onslaught of their hatred. The moment she was allowed to don the robes of a novice she would become a target. Her very life would be in danger until she either abandoned this endeavor, or...

"I understand," she said again.

Malik stepped back from her. "Strike me," he commanded again.

She instantly drove her fist toward his face and he caught her hand easily. He nodded with a pleased grunt.

"I was afraid you would attempt to to strike me with an open hand," he said, examining the tightness of her fist.

"I learned quickly that a slap has no effect on a man," she told him.

Her words stung him with memories of her escape from the Templars but he forced himself to remain focused. "Now, try to get away from me."

Even though he wasn't hurting her, she knew she would never be able to break his grip on her wrist. Instead, she swung her left hand at his face, aiming for his nose. This he blocked with ease as well, and held her arms out to the side, almost standing chest to chest with her. Instinctively, she brought her knee up between his legs but stopped herself before she made contact.

"Very good," he said, unable to stop himself from smiling. Then, his expression turned serious once again. "But your opponent will most likely be ready for such an attack. Your first strike was a standard method of attack, however, when that failed, you repeated the action and that would have been a fatal mistake. Aim for an obvious weakness." He released her and stepped back. "Again."

Unable to hesitate to think of another way to strike him, she repeated her first punch, which he caught easily. This time, instead of swinging toward his jaw again, she aimed a quick jab to his nose. He dodged and caught her wrist and she realized just how sluggish her movements were compared to his. No, she would not stand a chance against the others if the Master consented to her impossible request. She began to feel the pressure of desperation fill her chest and so was puzzled by the fierce light of satisfaction in his eyes.

"Good, good," he told her. "Most novices must be taught where to strike. I only had to show you your mistake. Now," he took her hand and opened her fist, "for a strike to the nose, use the heel of your hand and strike upward rather than forward. This will drive the bone between their eyes. A kill strike." He took her hand mimed the strike as she should have performed it. "Aim for their neck with that same quick jab, open-handed or closed, and you can crush their throat. Attack their eyes. No matter how determined someone may be to kill you, they will always protect their sight. And, if you are quick enough," he slowly spun around her, allowing her wrist to turn in his grip so as not to break her arm, "you can twist around them and break their arm in several places, depending on how you twist it."

Even though he was not hurting her, she felt herself bending at the waist as her arm was pulled behind her back.

"When this happens," he indicated her bent posture, "there are many ways to dispatch an enemy. If you do not wish to kill them immediately," he raised his knee toward her face, "if you do, strike here with your blade," he touched the back of her neck, "or here," and touched her back between her shoulder blades, "or here," he touched her back just over her kidney.

Once he allowed her to stand, she turned to him, her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Of course, if I had a blade, once he thwarted my first attack," she slowly drove her fist toward Malik's jaw and, as she'd expected, he caught it, "I could simply," she stepped closer suddenly and touched his chest, her hand curled as though she held a knife, "kill him then."

"Yes, you could," he told her. "You aren't strong and that is the first thing we must change. You've watched us train. You've seen what we do, how the novices are instructed?"

She nodded.

"That is where you must start," he said. "Every day you must."

She nodded again, her eyes burning with excitement.

"But understand," he told her earnestly, "you will never match a man for strength. If you were to become as strong as you possibly could, it would still be impossible. The only way you will survive is by honing your speed, agility and technique. Those are your primary weapons and you must make them as sharp as any blade you would carry."

"I understand," she said.

"I truly hope you do," he replied heavily.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This one's super short, guys. It might actually be the shortest thing I've ever written but it serves the purpose of showing her progress, small though it is, and showcasing Malik's skill once more. I really hated that the game didn't show how good he was. I mean, come on! He survived Solomon's Temple and made it all the way back to Masyaf with the Apple, all with his arm so horribly injured that it had to be amputated! Malik is a freaking BOSS!

* * *

Her arms ached and her legs burned with every step. For three weeks, every night she worked to strengthen her body and every day she worked to conceal her agony. Either she was succeeding or Hashima simply was not asking about her misery.

As she sank to her knees beside the creek, she fought back a groan. The cold water chilled her hands and arms, relieving some of the pain but scrubbing the clothes was nearly impossible. She clenched her jaw, refusing to give the pain any voice.

"How are you today, Aliyah?" Malik asked coming to sit beside her.

"I am well," she replied as easily as she could.

"Hm," he said nothing else as he studied her. She was in pain and determined to hide it. "Meet me tonight," he told her quietly and stood to leave.

"I will," she replied softly.

The moonless night lent a welcome ease to her efforts and she reached the grotto much more quickly than the last time. Malik was waiting for her.

"Show me how much you have improved," he said the moment she stood in front of him.

She could barely move her arms but excuses were unacceptable. No enemy would grant her a respite simply because she was tired. She struck out toward his face, feeling sudden pride at the new strength in her arm. Then, felt embarrassed when he knocked her hand away so quickly that she'd barely seen the movement. Instead of following through, she stepped back, frustrated, then panicked when he attacked. She ducked his hand and darted to the side, aiming her fist at his ribs. With a whisper of cloth, he whirled, caught her wrist and spun her around, pinning her arm neatly behind her back. She had no time to be irritated with herself as she heard the hiss of his hidden blade and she spun violently away from him, unwinding her arm but unable to break his grip. Suddenly, she dashed forward and slammed her knee into his side. He grunted but did not release her and she spun behind him, twisting his arm back, only to have him turn and grab her by the throat.

He was so fast.

He flexed his wrist and she felt the cold steel of his hidden blade against her neck. She shivered and swallowed nervously. If he had not been so precise in his movements, he would have killed her without meaning to.

"You _have_ improved," he told her, immensely pleased.

"Not enough," she replied unhappily.

He released her. "You have improved more than I thought you would have," he rephrased his statement and held up a hand to silence her. "It is early, yet. You still have some time. For now, we work."


	7. Chapter 7

y.r. 1184 A.D.

The road to the fortress was long and every step closer made its walls appear even more forbidding. Aliyah paused, gazing at the dark stone and wondering at the wisdom of her errand.

"Are you certain you wish to do this?" Malik had asked her the day before.

"I am," she'd assured him.

"You know I will not be able to help you anymore past this day," he had said in a grieved voice.

"I know," she'd replied, concealing the sudden flutter of fear his words had put in her stomach. If the Master granted her request, Malik would be able to do nothing, no matter how cruelly the others dealt with her. Even if the Master denied her, Malik still would be able to do nothing to help her and that fate would be the cruelest of all. Her only hope for a future was to succeed.

Two Assassins stood by the gate and although they did not appear to be on guard, she approached carefully.

"What are you doing here, woman?" one of them demanded harshly.

She bowed her head respectfully. "I wish to speak with the Master."

"On what matter?" he snapped.

"I wish to make a request of him," she replied.

"Wait," the other one stepped forward. "She's the one that arrived with Altair and Malik. Aren't you?"

Her stomach tightened. "Yes."

"Perhaps I can assist you," he said with a leer.

"Ismael!"

They started at the sharp voice and turned to see Malik coming toward them. Relief flooded Aliyah and she would have kissed his boots with joy.

"Have you no respect?" Malik demanded angrily. "You would speak to a woman in such a way?" He held out his hand and she stepped between the two men without fear. "What did you need?" he asked her.

She looked up at him briefly, knowing that his ignorance was feigned.

"I wish to speak with the Master," she said.

He inclined his head. "Come, I shall see if he will hear you." He turned and walked ahead of her and she followed closely, looking around, studying the fortress so that she would not get lost in the future.

When they reached the Master's study, Altair and several other Assassins were already in the room and the low hum of conversation filled the air. Malik motioned for her to wait by the door and he approached the Master's desk. Bending low, he spoke softly in the Master's ear and she saw Al-Mualim straighten in surprise. The old man looked at her then back to Malik who spoke again and straightened respectfully. Al-Mualim beckoned her forward and all talk ceased.

"What is she doing here?" one of the men growled.

"Peace, Abbas," Al-Mualim told him without taking his eyes off of Aliyah. "You are the one who saved Kadar's life."

She felt herself flush. "I did not do so much."

Al-Mualim sat back in his chair. "He lives today because of you. Pierre Delacroix would have killed him, and not mercifully."

She remembered those moments. "I know he did not need help, least of all from me. But I—I could not do _nothing._ "

He nodded. "This is a debt I have been aware of, and yet have not repaid. What would you have in return for the life of one of my Assassins?"

"His life is not mine to use for trade," she said, shock making her voice stronger than she'd expected. "He lives and that is enough."

Al-Mualim steepled his fingers thoughtfully. "What is it you have come to say, then?"

She took a breath and fought to keep herself from trembling. "I do have a request, but not because of Kadar." She fought the urge to look at Malik. She refused to implicate him. "I wish to join the Brotherhood. I wish to become an Assassin."

Harsh laughter rang throughout the room and Malik quickly leaned over to Al-Mualim once more.

"Well, why not?" Abbas said. "We have more than a few Sisters. Let her go to one of the brothels. No place makes a man more vulnerable. She can thin their numbers there."

Aliyah fixed him with a cold look. "I'd sooner bear a Templar's child."

Abbas' smile vanished and a look of death came into his eyes.

"I admire your courage, child," Al-Mualim said sincerely. "However, ours is not a world for women."

"And yet, women are required for you to remain in it," she countered quietly. "They give their fathers, husbands and sons to the Brotherhood and when those men fall in battle, it is not only _their_ blood that stains the ground, because their blood was shared by those women. And so those women partake, not only of the grief of their loss, but of their deaths, as well. Are they not apart of you, then?"

Al-Mualim studied her for a moment in the stunned silence that followed.

"Is that what you wish for?" he asked. "A husband? Sons?"

"No," she answered. "I wish for a blade, that I might spill Templar blood."

"Child, there is no place in the Brotherhood for personal vengeance," he told her slowly.

"And there should not be," she replied. "What happened to me is done and no matter how many Templars die, that will not change. But if I could stop it happening to someone else, that would be enough."

"The woman is mad," Abbas growled. "Cast her out and put an end to this insult."

"What insult, Abbas?" Al-Mualim asked. "In all of my years, never have I heard such an ardent plea." He looked back at Aliyah. "In return for Kadar's life, I will allow you to learn. We shall see what follows."

She inclined her head deeply and felt a sudden urge to weep with relief. "Thank you, Master."

Al-Mualim nodded. "Malik, show her to the quarters and see that she is properly attired."

Malik barely acknowledged her as he led her from the room. As they passed Altair leaning against the wall by the door, she caught his glance. She saw no approval there, but she did not see his disapproval, either. Then, she realized that aside from Malik and Al-Mualim, Altair had been the only one in the room who had not laughed at her.

* * *

A/N: Hmmm, what could Malik have possibly said?


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: It's been a while, guys! *huff* Sorry, school schedule is crazy but I'm still here! So excited about the follows and faves! **Messy Ink** , you made my day with your review! I hope you continue to read and enjoy :) BTW...Don't know if there are any FNAF fans here, but I wrote a fic for that, too, if anybody is interested. It's a completed one. Believe it or not, it's the shortest thing I've ever written. Oh dear, might not should have said that...please don't run away...

Anyhoo, I give you chapter eight!

* * *

The pants and tunic felt odd and the boots made her feel clumsy. Her head throbbed in rhythm with her heart and she could feel the heat in her swollen eye. Gingerly, she pressed her fingertips against it to test the damage and found, to her relief that she could still see around the swelling. She sank onto the bench and leaned her head back against the warm stone wall with a grateful groan.

She heard a soft step on her right and instantly leaped to her feet and spun around to face whoever was approaching.

"Safety and peace, Aliyah."

For a moment, she was frozen in a defensive stance. Then, her blurred vision cleared just enough for her to make out the red sash and weapons. She focused hard on the Assassin before her and realized that it was Malik watching her from beneath the hood.

"Safety and peace, Malik," she replied a little breathlessly.

His mouth tensed into a frown and he strode up to her. Grasping her chin, he tilted her head up to see her injury.

"Have you seen the doctor?" he asked.

She had suffered such beatings before, and beatings worse than this. The pain was bearable, but the gruffness of his voice was not and she listened to his words again in her mind, searching for the gentleness that was particular to him.

"Aliyah," he said her name almost impatiently.

No gentleness. Even though she understood why this must be so, her eyes began to burn with repressed tears until she realized that the name she had, the name he had called her, was the name he had given her. He was the same man, even still.

"No," she answered.

"Why not?" he demanded and in those words, she heard indignation and concern.

"I did not feel it was necessary," she told him and hoped he would understand.

He drew his head back and his eyes glittered like coals. "Come with me," he said and began leading her through the fortress. She took note of the way they went so she would be able to find her way in the future. However as she watched his back, she soon became distracted by the way his robes draped across his shoulders and back, hinting at the strength beneath the fabric. Her breath caught in her throat and she felt heat creeping up her neck and into her face. How foolish he must think her! How she wished she could have accepted Al-Mualim's offer of a husband. Malik. She longed to be his wife but she would never condemn him to such a life, to such a mockery.

She dropped her gaze to the heels of his boots and swallowed down her emotions. Once she became something new, she would be able to see and speak to him without fear of shaming him. That would be enough.

They came to a large wooden door in the eastern wing of the fortress and Malik thrust it open without breaking his stride. The doctor was nursing a kettle hanging over the fire in the room and turned in surprise. Then, he frowned at Malik's rudeness, his thick, white eyebrows drawn together warningly.

"You have not barged through my door even when you were injured," he admonished, turning back to his kettle.

"Why has she not been tended?" Malik demanded.

The old man cocked an eyebrow over his shoulder as though he were offended by the question. "Her injuries are not severe. Send her to Hashima."

Malik glared at the man. "She is one of the novices," he said slowly. "As an Assassin, she is to be treated here."

The man shrugged. "Very well."

"And you," Malik turned his glare on Aliyah. "I do not want this repeated in the future. Every student must visit the physician after practicing in the ring. The Master will not have his students dying from injuries that became fatal through neglect. You should have known better."

"Yes, I will do so from now on," she told him quietly, understanding the necessity of his rebuke but suffering from it all the same.

"See that you do," he said. He brushed by her as he left the room and she felt the weight of something fall into one of the pockets of her robe. She refused to look at him, wary that anything could give him away.

"Well, come here, girl. Let me see you," the old doctor said wearily. When Aliyah removed her hood, his eyes widened in surprise. "So, that was you, then?"

She gave him a puzzled look.

"I often watch the students fight in the ring," he said, grinding up various herbs and powders. "It makes my job a little easier. I didn't realize that it was you I was watching at that moment." He poured the hot water from the kettle in the bowl and stirred until the mixture became a paste. "I must say, I was surprised when you walked away after he struck you."

"I have suffered worse," she said softly as he dabbed the paste onto her swollen eye and cut cheek.

He looked up from his work and met her eyes and his gaze seemed to soften a little. "Yes, I've heard about you."

She waited for his gaze to roam over her, for him to tell her that she was unfit to draw breath, but he did neither. Instead, he continued his work in silence and when he had cleaned her cut and coaxed some of the swelling from her eye, he sent her away with a pouch of herbs and gruff instructions on how to use them.

Her room was small and cold with a rough, straw filled mattress and no pillow. The blanket was relatively warm but she slept fully clothed in her novice garb and so only used it on the coolest nights. Three days had passed, only three days, and she could feel the hatred of the other students washing over her like a heat whenever they saw her.

The golden light of sunset covered the mountains surrounding Masyaf and made her room feel a little warmer. Supper would be served soon. In ten days, she had barely eaten a complete meal. The other students saw to that. If they thought depriving her of food would weaken her resolve, however, they were grossly mistaken. Perhaps they thought they could drive her to theft but somehow, she found that idea amusing. Were they not being trained to pickpocket? If she were to successfully steal food, how exactly would they punish her for putting her training into action?

 _Of course I will not steal. This is my home._

She waited until she heard the other students pass by her door on the way to take the evening meal. Then, she reached into her robe to see what Malik had given her. She covered her mouth to muffle her shocked gasp when she withdrew one of his daggers. The same one she had used to attack Pierre Delacroix. Wrapped around the sheath was a note:

'Keep this close by you at all times. I pray you never need it. I also pray that it will protect you as you protected my brother.'

She felt her blood run cold at the realization that she was in danger. They were not allowed to have weapons and Malik would not have provided her one if he had not seen it absolutely necessary. How was she supposed to carry it without being caught by one of the masters? How would she explain herself?

Her eyes fell on the blanket and she immediately cut two strips from one end of it. She threaded the pieces through the sheath, tied one around her neck and the other around her ribcage so that the dagger hung securely against her chest. Her robes concealed everything and while she felt comforted by the weight and presence of the weapon, her heart was racing as she tried to think of what could possibly have prompted Malik to arm her.

She took a few deep breaths, forcing herself to calm down, and left her room. Quietly, she made her way to the kitchen. Supper would nearly be over but she had no desire to eat with the others. Not yet.

Akilah, the woman in charge of the kitchen, scowled at her when she slid through the door.

"If you wanted a meal, you should have joined the others when they took theirs," she snapped.

Aliyah bowed her head respectfully. "I apologize for my lateness," she answered softly. "Is there anything left at all?"

"Crusts and gruel," the woman snapped, gathering up the pots and handing them to one of the younger women. "But if you think you can come in here when you please and get a plate of food—"

"No, not at all," Aliyah interrupted. "What would you like for me to do?"

All noise stopped and the women stared at her. Akilah, however, wasted no time and shoved a stack of plates and bowls into Aliyah's arms with the command to scour them. The water was scalding hot but she refused to complain and when she was finished, the dishes were spotlessly clean. Without asking, she took the broom and began sweeping the kitchen floor, following the other women as they completed their tasks.

"Come here, girl," Akilah commanded.

Aliyah straightened, wiped the sweat away from her eyes and went to the large wooden table. A plate of meat, bread and vegetables with a large tankard of water waited for her.

"You've done good work, girl," Akilah told her in a tone that was almost begrudging. The lines in her face were a little softer. "You deserve a meal for your efforts."

"Oh, but this is too much!" Aliyah protested. "Crusts and gruel, you said."

"Do not repeat my words to me, girl," Akilah warned her. "I tell all of my girls that if they work well, I shall feed them. We have all finished an hour early because of you. Come and eat."

Aliyah did as she was told. The food was deliciously hot and she realized that she was ravenous. She forced herself to eat slowly but she felt Akilah watching her closely.

"When was the last meal you had, girl?"

"I eat every day," Aliyah replied carefully.

Akilah frowned at her. "Do not play words with me, girl."

Aliyah paused. "Last week, I think."

"I'm not sure what you expected. Joining the ranks of the novice Assassins. You are lucky they have only made small attempts to starve you. I never expected you to last a week. Foolish girl, did you truly expect them to accept you?"

"No," Aliyah replied softly. "I knew they would not."

"Then, what madness possessed you to pursue this—this…I hardly know what to call it."

"I hope that…something broken might be made into something new," Aliyah told her. "Something with…a small purpose, at least."

"You are not broken, child," Akilah told her and her voice had a motherly sound to it. "And a woman is never without purpose."

The familiar words pierced Aliyah through her very soul and she almost choked as the memories washed over her. Those words had been the beginning of her years of torment and she wondered again, if she had truly escaped.

"Forgive me, child,' Akilah said hurriedly. "Too many years have passed for me and I forget that not all are as hard as I have become. Dry your eyes."

Aliyah became aware of the hot tears sliding down her cheeks and she accepted the corner of Akilah's robe to wipe them away.

"I know who you are, child," Akilah told her. "No one should suffer that fate but do not believe that a man would not be proud to have you as a wife. A beautiful woman, you are, and proper. You would make an excellent mother."

Immediately, she thought of Malik.

"No," she said, forcing back her tears. "There is…a reason…I was forced into…"

Akilah's aged face took on a shocked expression and a knowing grief came into her eyes. "Ah, I see, child. I see. So, you seek death to replace life, then?"

"No," Aliyah said again. "Only a way to spare others the horrors I suffered."

Akilah nodded. "I expect you to come to me when you need a meal," she said, resuming her terse tone. "I won't have one of the Master's students starving."

Aliyah looked up at her and a grateful smile touched her lips.

"We have all sacrificed for the Brotherhood, child," Akilah told her, standing to leave. "If not our very lives, then the lives of our husbands and children. I would almost say that you will be blessed to never suffer that pain, as well."

Even though she knew the words were meant in kindness, she could not ignore the bitter taste they left in her mouth.

 _I suppose, if one pain prevents another, that could be blessing of a kind._

She washed her dishes and went to her room. Exhausted though she was, she still exercised before she went to bed, determined to continue Malik's instructions. Her arms burned and her legs ached but she realized, with a surge of pride, that she could continue for a longer period of time than before. When she finally climbed into bed, she barely had the energy to roll onto her back and she fell asleep before she had completed the movement.

Around midnight, she woke up. Not completely, but enough to realize that it was a whisper of noise that had aroused her. Then, she felt the heavy presence of someone in the room with her and she instantly came fully awake. Before she could roll off the bed, strong hands pinned her shoulders and a strong, masculine smell hovered over her.

"You don't belong here," he hissed in her ear. "You taint us with your shame."

She brought her knee up but he was ready and dodged. However, at the same time, she head-butted him in the nose. Blood spurted and he reeled back, allowing her enough room to kick him hard in the gut. As he fell off the mattress, she rolled backward and placed the wall behind her.

Suddenly, light filled the room and she saw that there were three other novices in the room. One held a candle and the other two were helping her attacker to his feet.

"I'm going to kill you, whore," he growled and drew a dagger.

She had Malik's knife but if she used it, she would have to explain how she had acquired it. Somehow, she didn't think that using it to defend herself against another novice's blade would matter once she was found out.

He charged her and instead of trying to dodge him, she stepped forward and reached out to grab his arm. With his free hand, he punched her in the side of the head and while her vision blurred, she didn't stop. Keeping her grip on his wrist, she turned and pulled it down across her shoulder, wringing the blade from his grip with series of sickening cracks. Just as quickly, she spun back around and lashed out at him, slicing through his tunic and into his chest. He leaped back with a cry of pain and the others moved away from her.

"What is going on?"

They turned to see one of the masters in the doorway. The four boys immediately tried to assume expressions of shocked innocence while Aliyah did nothing to hide the knife in her hand.

"Where did you get that?" he demanded.

"It isn't mine," she replied flatly. How dare they! How dare they come and attack her in her sleep!

"None of us have a knife!" the boy who attacked her exclaimed as though his very words were proof of her transgression.

The master glared at him and strode farther into the room, lighting the tiny candle on her table. "I believe I can see why that is, Abdul," he said and as quick as a striking cobra, he grabbed the boy's injured hand, causing him to wail in agony. "Do you believe me to be stupid? Your hand was not broken when you left the ring this afternoon and I would recognize your father's knife anywhere." He shoved him toward the door. "Get out. All of you."

"I need a physician," Abdul moaned.

The master looked at him in wicked amusement. "If you want to risk waking him at this hour, I will not stop you." He looked the boy over, taking in his slashed clothes, cut chest, shattered nose and broken hand. "Pathetic," he spat.

As they all slunk off to their rooms, he turned to Aliyah. "Give me the knife."

She handed him the blade without hesitation.

"Do you know you could have killed him?"

"I did not want to kill him," she answered quietly, hoping she would not sound boastful.

Her answer pleased him, somehow. "Nor should you have. Desire for the kill creates a dark and twisted creature that can only be satisfied by death. When someone has suffered the cruelty of others that desire can come onto to them much easier and often too quick to combat. I tell this to all of my students. I do not agree with your presence here. But, as my student, I am glad that you learn what I teach."

He left without another word and she sat on the edge of the mattress and put her head in her hands. Malik had known. He had warned her every night as she practiced that she would have no chance to learn the craft, that the others would go to great lengths to ensure she failed. She was glad the master had not questioned her ability to disarm an opponent in such a manner. That maneuver had been one of the first that Malik had taught her.

She almost wished he could have seen her tonight. The speed of her reaction surprised even her and she was certain he would be proud.

 _Never let yourself become overconfident. Never. That will kill you faster than anything else._

She nodded, acknowledging his words again. Then, she pinched the candle wick, plunging the room into darkness once again and made herself sleep the few remaining hours until dawn.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: So, I realized that I haven't said this yet, but I don't own AC at all or any of the in-game characters. There, got the fine print out of the way. Finally got a cover image (I hope it's showing). I freaking love it! It's Aliyah, guys, except for the blue eyes, that's her! I don't know who did the image originally. I tried to find out but, alas, to no avail. So if anybody knows, please tell me so I can give credit where it's due.

Stuff gets real in this chapter, ladies and gentlemen. A person can only take so much, you know.

* * *

Abdul waited for her in the ring, hungry for revenge.

"Let us see how well you fight in the daylight without the darkness to hide your actions," he sneered.

She stared at his bandaged hand, furious again over the incident. She swallowed her anger, emotions would not help her here. "Perhaps you should think twice before creeping about in other people's rooms," she told him.

The master had barely told them to begin when he attacked her viciously. She managed to evade him for a moment but his rage made him unpredictable and he caught her by her shirt and punched her three solid times in her ribs before the master broke them apart.

"What are you? Children?" he demanded angrily. "You might defeat a woman but any other opponent would kill you in an instant! Pathetic!" he shoved Abdul out of the ring.

Aliyah lay in the dirt coughing and choking and half expecting to see blood as she tried to breathe. She tried to stand on her own but the master gave her no chance. He snatched her to her feet and shoved her from the ring as well.

"Pathetic," he spat.

Suddenly, she felt better. With that one word, the master had equalized her and Abdul and she took a small amount of satisfaction from that. Then, as she sank to the dirt outside the ring, she looked up and saw Malik watching, his mouth a taut line and suddenly felt the urge to weep. Why must he be here, today of all days?

For the midday meal, she slipped into the kitchen and asked Akilah what she could do to help with the work. The old woman waved her away and ordered one of the other women to bring a plate of food. Breathing was agony and sitting was difficult but she managed to eat her food and return to the ring with the others. The master paired her with another novice this time. Like the others, Ibrahim didn't appreciate her presence but he treated her with more confusion than hostility. Even so, when the master commanded them to fight, he did as he was told. She managed to defend herself for a time but when he landed a punch to her side, she collapsed, gasping for breath. Ibrahim mimed a kill stroke and she barely heard the master tell her that she was dead.

Unlike the others, Ibrahim helped her walk to the side of the ring.

"Leave her on the ground, Ibrahim," Abdul snapped. "That's where the whore belongs."

"Be silent, Abdul," Ibrahim told him firmly. "We are not to take pleasure in another's defeat."

Quiet Ibrahim would make an excellent father one day.

The physician tended her injuries with all the others at the end of the day and she collapsed across her bed gratefully. When call sounded for the evening meal, she merely groaned, lacking the strength to move and having no appetite even if she could. Night fell and she tried to sleep but her battered ribs burned like fire and she was on the verge of tears. She couldn't even sleep. Then, she thought of the icy water in the grotto and gathered her strength. As novices, they weren't allowed to leave the fortress but she didn't care. If she wasn't caught, then the sentries would be more at fault for failing to keep her inside than she would be for leaving. She hoped so, at least.

Everything seemed far easier than it should have been. She didn't pause to consider that perhaps her skills were improving. She only waited to see if she was being lured into a trap. Through the halls and out the gate down into the village, no one called out. Getting through the outside wall was just as easy as the first time she had slipped through. Even crossing the field to the lightning tree was surprisingly easy. The air in the grotto was refreshingly cool and the water looked as comforting as a bed. Stripping down to her undergarments, she waded in, wincing at the frigid temperature, then sighing in relief as it numbed her ribs.

"Aliyah."

She gasped and spun, covering herself and searching the darkness for the speaker.

"It is only me. Cover yourself so that we can talk."

"Malik?" she whispered, relieved. "How long have you been here?"

"I've only just arrived," he assured her. "When I saw you, I turned my back."

She hadn't meant to sound suspicious and she thought his tone sounded wounded. She wasted no time in climbing out of the water and dressing. She called out to him when she was finished and he stepped from the shadows. He pushed his hood back and stared hard at her. His statement about when he arrived at the grotto had not been entirely true. He had been there long enough to see the bruises on her ribs and back and the defined muscles that spoke of strength gained as well as meals missed.

"You carry my knife?"

His tone was gentle. Tomorrow, he would be terse if he spoke to her at all, but for the moment, he was the same as he had always been. "Yes," she answered, touching the hilt through her shirt.

He never dropped his eyes from her face. "Good. What happened to Abdul's hand?"

Her voice caught slightly. "He attacked me last night in my room and I disarmed him."

"Show me what you did," he commanded.

She swallowed a groan and approached him, waiting for him to attack her. When he lashed out with his dagger, she caught his arm and repeated the maneuver he had taught her. Frustration welled up in her chest as she was once again aware of how much more slowly she moved compared to him. If he had struck at her as quickly as he was capable of doing, she would not have been able to follow the movement, much less catch his arm.

He cocked an eyebrow at her in approval. "Well done," he said. "You may not have to worry about Abdul attacking you like that again."

"He was much slower than you are. But I do not see how it will matter," she said flatly. "If he kills me in the ring, I shall not have to worry about anything anymore."

Her words grieved him. "It will not be enough for you to beat him in the ring," he told her. "You must make him wary of you."

"I do not know how," she told him, hoping he would not hear the despair in her voice.

Every day, Malik had been forced to listen to the things Abdul had said, both to her and about her, and it boiled his blood. He had no doubt that her reactions to his words, while carefully concealed behind an emotionless mask, were even stronger.

"Let them see your anger," he told her.

"Emotions cloud our judgement," she said, puzzled by his instructions.

"They can," he agreed. "And normally, yes, we repress them. But the woman who broke his hand last night is not the same woman who fought today. There is a balance to be achieved when it comes to reaction and control and you focus too much on the latter, I think. He enrages you. Let him bear the weight of it."

She could not deny that she wanted to unleash her fury on Abdul. At the very least, she owed him for attacking her in her bed. She nodded.

Malik pulled his hood up over his head again. "Return to the fortress before you are missed."

She left the grotto without another word and made her way back to her room within the stone walls that served to protect and imprison her.

The next morning, she awoke before anyone else and sat in her window to watch the sun rise. She doubted that she could beat Abdul in the ring but Malik was right. She had made him feel pain once and even if he killed her, she would make him feel it again.

When they went to eat the morning meal, she took a seat at the table with them, ignoring the looks of hostility and resentment she received. The ones beside her tried to put as much distance between themselves and her as they could but, as she expected, Abdul strode right up to the table.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded hotly.

She looked him as though he was a child asking an obtuse question. "I am eating," she replied simply.

Hatred burned in his eyes and he knocked her bread off her plate and onto the stone floor. "If you wish to eat, you will eat on the ground where you belong, whore, not at the table with people who are your betters."

"I suppose that explains why you have yet to sit, yourself," she told him.

His face turned red with rage and he slammed his hand down on the table. Quicker than the eye could follow, Aliyah slammed her breakfast knife into the wood between his fingers, never dropping her gaze from his face.

"Shall I break your other hand?" she asked, almost sweetly.

Abdul practically swelled with wrath and she braced for his attack.

"Abdul, leave her be," Ibrahim told him, standing up slowly.

"Sit down, Ibrahim," Abdul snapped. "This does not concern you."

Ibrahim's eyes glinted dangerously. "If you wish to punish her for her obstinance, do so in the ring, though I hope for your sake the master does not provide her a weapon. But if we are deprived of a meal because you refuse to partake of it, we may all kill you before you have the chance."

Abdul scowled at him, then stalked away to another table. Ibrahim sat down and, catching Aliyah's gaze, gave her the tiniest nod before returning to his plate. For the duration of the meal, she was aware of the others casting glances her way and she detected something like caution emanating from them.

The master did not immediately place her in the ring with Abdul. As the other students fought, he stared at her with pure loathing and she was surprised to find that, the longer she waited for her turn, the less nervous she became. She was angry, furious, that Abdul had done what he did. The master had spoken correctly that night. She could have killed him. The moment she slashed his tunic, had she aimed a little higher, she would have opened his throat. She had not wished to kill him, it was true, but she might not feel the same if it happened a second time. As she remembered each moment, her anger grew and she experienced sudden clarity. Abdul was larger and stronger than she was and while he'd had more time to hone his agility, his arrogance and hatred of her made him reckless. She allowed the tiniest smile to touch her mouth. For making her relive that shame, she would best him and before the day was done, it would be Abdul eating from the ground.

When the master called their names, she stepped into the ring with a tremor of anticipation. He handed them both wooden practice swords. If Abdul struck her with his, he would break bones. However, this concern was merely trivial to her. When Abdul attacked her, she stepped lightly to the side but instead of trying to block his sword, she swung hers down on top of his, forcing it to the ground and throwing him off balance. Before he could recover, she swung again, catching him across the backs of his knees with a crack that caused several of the people watching to wince. Abdul screamed and staggered and she pressed her advantage, striking him across his shoulder. With another yell of pain, he turned on her and brought his sword straight down toward her head. She closed the distance between them just as she had done that night in her room only this time, instead of forcing the weapon from his hand, she caught his arm in one hand and brought her sword down onto the inside of his elbow. His scream was a breathy gasp, then a grunt as she kicked him in the gut and sent him sprawling on his face in the dirt.

"Eat off the ground, you said," she hissed. "Never again."

She swatted the sword from his grasp as he tried to regain his feet.

"Do as you're told, they said to me," she hissed at him and struck his arm, knocking him to the ground again.

* * *

Across the ring, the master started to walk toward them to stop the savage beating Abdul was receiving.

"If you would not intervene on her behalf, do not intervene on his," Malik warned him in a low voice.

The master nodded and resumed his observation, worried that he might lose one of his students before the sun set.

* * *

"Get up," Aliyah growled, repeating the words she had heard so often during those years.

Abdul struggled to his hands and knees.

"And when I refused," she kicked him savagely in the ribs and he coughed and gasped for breath.

" _Get up!_ " she growled again and he tried. "And when I still refused—" she went down in front of him and backhanded him across the face, re-breaking his nose and splitting his lips. As he struggled to breathe through the blood running down his face, she stood and walked around him, feeling that her anger had almost been satisfied. She kicked him over onto his back and he lay there, gasping for air.

"Enough," he wheezed. "Enough."

"That word, meant nothing," she told him coldly and dropped her sword beside his head. He curled away from the movement, expecting another blow and she almost spit in contempt.

 _No, that will only reflect poorly upon me. The insult has been repaid._

She strode from the ring with her head up and took her place among the novices. Across the ring, as two Assassins helped Abdul stagger toward the fortress, she saw Malik watching her. He held her gaze for a significant moment then, as he turned to leave, he ducked his head in what she knew was a nod of approval.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Here it is and a long time coming, I know. Sorry. It's not even midterms yet and I'm drowning in homework but I had to get this one finished! *sigh* Maybe now I can focus on the other things on my to-do list

Thank you, **Cosmos** , for finding the info on the cover image! It's called Rogue by Huan Lee, artstationartwork/no-name-a6e3e3af-d7a6-4568-acd9-823ae86a6728. That's the whole shebang :)

Anyhoo, hope you enjoy!

* * *

y.r. 1185 A.D.

Aliyah reached up for the thin ledge above her head and found barely enough room for her hands. Her fingers cramped fiercely as she pulled herself further up the rock face. Dust slid out from under her boots and sweat ran into her eyes as she looked up, gauging the distance she had yet to climb. A mere six feet separated her from the top of the cliff and a determined groan escaped her as she forced her tired body higher. The rising sun peaked over the horizon and as she pulled herself up one final time, it spilled golden light over the mountains. She forced herself to stand for a moment, then, her shaking legs demanded that she sit or fall. She sank onto the cold rock and lay down to catch her breath.

The first time the master made them run, she had been horribly inadequate, unable to even keep pace with them. The shame and ridicule she had suffered made her desire for excellence burn hot but she had been forced to choose between learning to run, and learning to fight. A month had passed since her last spar with Abdul and the other novices now kept a somewhat respectful distance. At last, she was able to train without constantly worrying about who was waiting for her around each corner. While the ordeal had served to heighten her awareness, it had also inhibited her training and it was most obvious in her running. Abdul had been even more spiteful than he had been in the ring, taking every opportunity to trip her or force her to fall from the rocks. More than once, Ibrahim caught her before she fell a fatal distance. So many nights she had gone to bed with bruised bones, certain that she would never again draw a full breath without pain.

Once she had carved a place for herself among the novices that day in the ring, she devoted all of her attention to training, looking for any way that a moment in the day could be used for practice. She asked Akilah if she could practice her stealth coming in and out of the kitchen. Every time Akilah caught her, she had to scour pots before she could go to bed. As the days went by and Aliyah spent less time cleaning, the old woman gave her some begrudging approval. Any time one of the Assassins would walk past in the halls, Aliyah would step into the shadows and remain completely still. She would practice on the chickens outside, creeping up on them, catching them if she was successful, and evading their wrathful claws and beaks if she was not. She still continued her strengthening regimen as Malik had instructed her from the very beginning, only now, instead of doing it just before bed, she did first thing in the morning, as well.

Then, one day, she found the courage to test her stealth abilities further and she snuck out of her room one night and went running. She ran until she came to the rocks and then she would leap and clamber from boulder to boulder. When she came to the mountains, she would climb. At first, it was only short distances and as she became stronger, she chose longer, more difficult climbs. Today, the cliff she rested on was nearly level with the fortress.

She sat up and sighed happily. Running was pure freedom and she had been deprived of that for so long, she hardly knew what to think of it now. She stood and looked over the edge at the ground so far away. She had be back for the morning meal but climbing down the way she had come up would take far too long. She studied the mountains around her, the broken rock faces and ledges, the trees growing from the crags. She bit her lip, wondering if she should simply risk missing the meal. Going that way would be incredibly dangerous. But as she studied the landscape, a path made itself clear. She took a deep breath and leaped from the cliff, aiming for a nearby ledge. She landed and rolled, bruising her shoulder and bloodying her hand on a sharp rock. She skirted the edge until it ended and then she inched her way along the rock-face itself, gripping and stepping on every jutting stone and in every crack she could find.

At last, she came upon the wall and she almost laughed. She had always sneaked in and out by way of the guard's door. This time, she would go over the wall and if she was careful, the guards would be none the wiser. She crept closer, waited on the guard to turn his back, then leaped from cover and landed behind another rock, sending a shower of dirt and pebbles raining noisily down. The echoes alerted the Assassin on the wall and he spun around, staring hard at the spot where she hid. She didn't move and hardly dared to breathe. The moment she heard a second voice call the man's name, she slid away to the next place of cover. No one raised the alarm. No arrows came singing after her. However, she didn't travel in the open until she had a clear spot to leap to the ground. As it so happened, she was right behind Hashima's home. How long had it been since she had seen the old woman? Guilt assailed her and she resolved to visit soon.

The sun rose higher and she knew she was running out of time. She sprinted up the hill toward the fortress, climbed the rocks up to her window and slipped inside just as the master opened the door.

"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice low with suspicion.

She turned to face him, trying to hide her anxiety behind a mask of innocence. "I like to watch the sun rise," she replied.

He nodded slowly. "An excellent way to start the day," he said.

She walked past him and followed the others to breakfast. Abdul glared at her from across the room and she held his gaze without fear. Eventually, he dropped his eyes and she resumed eating her meal. She spent her days waiting for him to attempt to kill her again, but he had yet to do anything but glare.

"Finish your meal," the master told them. "Then, come to the ring. This afternoon, we run."

A faint smile touched Aliyah's mouth at those words, then she winced as she picked up a knife to cut a slice of bread. She had not been able to tend her cut before the master walked into her room and her palm was tender to the touch. She looked up to see the master watching her with a knowing expression and she didn't try to hide her injury. He lifted his chin in what could have been disapproval but the glint in his eyes only warned her not to be too clever. She nodded and finished her food.

Practice in the ring was far better today than she anticipated. She beat three of the other novices before Ibrahim took her down, much to Abdul's glee. When Ibrahim beat him as well, Abdul had nothing but curses to spit. Sparring ended with Ibrahim still standing and the others nursing various injuries. As the master led them from the fortress, she caught a glimpse of Abdul as he joined the group. He kept his head down with a sullen scowl on his face. When he glanced up at her, she saw the hatred in his eyes.

 _I will not be safe from him today. If I wish to return alive, I will have to keep my distance._

Once outside, the master pointed toward one of the mountains that surrounded them and through the morning haze, a flag was barely visible at the top.

"That is your target," he told them. "How you reach it, is up to you."

The lack of instruction surprised and worried her. She could name over a dozen of the novices that would not hesitate to twist the master's words into an excuse for causing harm.

"Why are you still standing here?" the master demanded. "Go!"

They all sprinted for the rocks and began climbing. Aliyah hesitated, studying the unfamiliar terrain.

 _Does he believe us capable of accomplishing such a dangerous climb, or is he separating the wheat from the chaff?_

The safest route would be to climb the mountain itself. Then again, on this run, safe merely meant a smaller risk of a fatal mistake. The quickest route would be to climb up close to where they were and run the rocks along the top.

 _Is it better to try to reach the target first or try to reach it alive?_

She shook her head, unable to determine a clear path to the flag. The others were scrambling over the rocks, over each other, trying desperately to reach the top first. If she started there, she would never be able to even reach the rocks to start. She sprinted farther down the hill toward the village, keeping close to the cliffs. As she drew near the ledge, she increased her pace and ran partway up the rock face, just able to grasp the lip of stone above her head. Her shoulders burned and her hand throbbed as she pulled herself up and began to climb. As she reached the top, some of the other novices ran by, almost reckless in their haste.

 _At least Abdul was not among them._

She pulled herself up onto the edge, and then, she saw him coming. Their eyes met and his expression was one of murder. She held his gaze for a moment, then ran after the others, determined to stay ahead of him. Her survival depended on it.

* * *

Hatred blazed in Abdul's core as he saw Aliyah climb up ahead of him.

 _Who would give a whore such a name?!_

She disgraced them, shamed them with her very presence. He would end that shame today, if he had to cast her from the cliffs to do it.

* * *

Aliyah ran, leaping from rock to rock, from ledge to ledge, and almost forgot that she was competing with the others. Every step, every hand-grip, every breath of cold air was sweeter than honey and she was almost convinced that she needed nothing else to sustain her in life. As they sprinted for the flag, she began to pass some of them and was aware of the resentful looks they cast her way. She knew she would not be the first to reach the flag, but reaching it with the rest of them would be enough.

A large crevice appeared before them and as she gathered her strength to jump, a hand suddenly gripped the back of her hood and snatched her backward. With a startled cry, she fell and her momentum carried her over the edge. She flailed wildly for a handhold to save herself and caught the root of a small tree that had managed to grow in a crack in the rock. Her heart hammering in her chest, she hung there for a moment, staring at the ground so far below. If she fell, there would be nothing left of her when she landed.

The root shifted in her grasp and she looked up, desperate to find a way back up to safety. When the root shifted again, she abandoned caution and began climbing, grasping every crack and jutting rock that she saw. Finally, she reached the top and pulled herself back over the ledge, listening to the echoes of stones as they fell, dislocated by her climb. How close had she come to falling with them? She did not want to think about it.

She desperately wanted to rest and catch her breath, but her legs lifted her and she was running again, determined to catch up. She had no doubt that it had been Abdul that had forced her to fall, but strangely, she felt no anger toward him, only resignation and an odd sense of relief that she no longer had to wait for it to happen.

 _Perhaps, he will be satisfied for now and I can finish this race._

Her daily morning runs served her well and she caught up to the group more quickly than she expected. When they came to the next cliff, she passed three in the climb, Abdul included. A fierce sense of satisfaction welled within her and she pushed herself harder, reaching the top among the leaders. Ibrahim was among them, as well and as they continued running, he caught her eye and she saw surprise and approval in his expression.

The flag was at the top of the next cliff, but to reach it required jumping across one final ravine and landing on the cliff-face itself. She did not see one of them that didn't hesitate in their strides when they realized this. Then, they redoubled their efforts. Aliyah forced herself into a final sprint, timed each step and leaped. She hung, suspended in the air, her arms up and reaching for the rocks as they rushed to meet her. When she hit them, the cut on her hand reopened with the pain of a hot knife and her feet slipped, dangling in midair. As she looked down to find purchase, she saw Abdul sprinting for the edge. As he prepared to jump, the edge of the ravine gave way under his foot and he fell with a scream of terror. Her heart stuttered in her chest as she held herself against the cliff. Then, as the breeze cleared the dust, she saw him dangling far below and his cries echoed up like a tortured soul.

"Someone! HELP ME!"

She started to climb down, but a darkness suddenly clouded her mind and she closed her eyes. Had he not tried to kill her? Not once, but twice? Was this not what he deserved?

"PLEASE!"

She looked down at him again, saw him struggling and heard the rocks crack as they threatened to give way.

"Stop moving, Abdul!" she cried.

"HELP ME!" he screamed.

She glanced back toward the ledge, gathered her legs underneath her, and launched herself back to it. Then, she began climbing down to where Abdul hung on the opposite side. Her legs ached and her arms burned and as much as she wanted to hurry, she knew she had to be careful. This far down, the voices of the others were faint and she could hear the sea breaking against the rocks. The stone was cold and her fingers were quickly losing feeling and her bloody hand made her grip slick.

Suddenly, the rock cut inward and she could climb no further. She twisted around and saw that she was almost level with Abdul. While he clung to the rocks, his robe was caught on a sharp stone that jutted out like a spear and it was a miracle he had not simply bounced off of it and plummeted to his death. She glanced around desperately and spied a scraggly bush with roots curling around and into the cracks of the rocks. She shifted her position until she could reach it and she looped her left arm through a gap between a root and the stone. Planting her feet firmly against the rock-face, she reached out to him.

"Abdul! Take my hand!" she strained her arm out as far as she could.

He looked at her as though she was mad and shrieked in terror when his robe tore and he fell further.

"Take my hand, Abdul!" her voice echoed around them.

He reached out and grasped her wrist like a drowning man as his robe ripped free. As he swung toward the rocks, the strain of his weight on her arms made her cry out with pain and determination. She couldn't pull him up but she couldn't hold him for long, either.

"Aliyah!" Ibrahim's voice echoed and a shower of dust rained down on her head as he practically slid down the rock-face. He stopped right above where Abdul hung, trying to find a grip on the stone and reached down to grasp his other hand.

"I have him," Ibrahim told her, giving her a firm look. "Go."

She nodded and began climbing back up to the ledge. The shadows of the other novices splashed over her as they leaped from the cliff, returning to the master. As she pulled herself to the top, she hesitated, catching her breath. She glanced back at the cliff where the flag had been and returned to the edge, leaping onto the cliff-face and climbing to the top.

 _I will not—cannot—return without having reached the end_.

She lowered her hood and let the wind run its cool fingers along her scalp. In the months since Hashima had sheared her hair off, it had grown long enough to reach her shoulders. She lingered for a moment, studying the land below and the sea beyond, breathing in the salt breeze and watching the sun sink into the water.

 _This is the highest I have climbed, yet._

She sighed, refusing to be disheartened. She had finished the run and that was a small victory on its own. However, she could not deny her grief and ironically, it was Akilah's words that came back to her and pierced her through the heart once more.

 _A woman is never without a purpose._

 _But I am more than that, aren't I? Or is that my only place in the world?_

She waited until Ibrahim and Abdul climbed out of the ravine and Ibrahim helped him walk back to the fortress. The sight of Abdul saddened her. She had never done wrong by him, yet he hated her enough to actively try and kill her. While none of the novices were friendly, or even warm to her, none of them seemed to despise her that much.

 _I was not seeking friends here. This should not trouble me so._

Yet, it did. She longed for acceptance, for the camaraderie that the Assassin's exhibited toward each other, even those they disliked.

She looked over the edge, recalling the day she had seen Altair leap from an eagle's perch on the tower on the road to Masyaf.

 _What must it be like to fly?_

With a sigh of longing, she turned back and began making her way to the fortress. The master waited at the gate with the flag in his hands and frowned as she approached. She bowed her head respectfully and started to go by him. He stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

"From the beginning, I was convinced that you were mad," he told her. "Nothing you have done has changed that. Especially today. Not even a Master Assassin would have risked climbing into that ravine. Do you delight in tempting death, woman?"

She met his gaze levelly. "We all tempted death today. I simply had the misfortune of meeting him twice."

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "The flag was gone long before you climbed the last cliff. Why would you waste the time on a fruitless effort?"

"I wished to finish the run," she said. "I would not have been able to rest if I had not."

He nodded, as though confirming something in his mind. "Yes, mad you certainly are. But brave." He jerked his head up the path and she entered the fortress.

The hall was filled with the sound of excited voices. Not all of the novices had made it to the end. Many had injured themselves along the way and some had not managed to make the final jump. Abdul was not at any of the tables. The food smelled heavenly but she was too exhausted to eat. As she turned toward the stairs, Ibrahim stepped from the shadow of an archway.

"Aliyah," he called her name softly.

She stopped and faced him. "How is Abdul?"

His face showed his shock at her question and disgust for the subject. "He is with the physician," he answered. "From what I could see, his injuries were not severe."

She nodded with relief. "Good."

"How could you?" he demanded, his soft voice hard with anger.

She turned her side to him, braced for an attack. "I do not understand your question."

"I saw him throw you from the edge," Ibrahim replied hotly. "That fall would have killed you and yet, you willingly risked death to save him. Why?"

"You would have had the flag before any of us and yet you gave it up to come back for him," she challenged him, unable to answer the question even for herself.

His mouth curled into a snarl. "Not for him," he said. "I did not trust him to not try and kill you a third time. Kindness should never be repaid with evil."

"And if he had turned on you?" she asked.

His snarl nearly became a smirk. "I would have dropped him."

Her eyes widened at the blunt confession.

Ibrahim dropped his gaze for a moment, chastened by her horror, by the innocence she retained. "Perhaps that is a failing of mine," he said quietly. "But if a man tries to kill you, how can you call him a brother?"

"I am glad it did not come to that," she told him. "Hopefully, he reserves his hatred for me, and me alone."

He met her gaze and she saw the confused look he always wore when he looked at her. "You don't deserve it," he said and turned to leave. "You should not be here, Aliyah," he said, looking back at her over his shoulder. "But, perhaps, you will be able to join our ranks after all."

She watched him go. His words had held no malice. In fact, it had sounded like he was telling her that she should have been somewhere…better. She dared not think of him as a friend yet, but maybe as a comrade.

 _Perhaps, a brother in arms…_

"Safety and peace, Aliyah."

She turned toward the warm voice and saw Malik standing in the doorway of the library.

"Safety and peace, Malik," she greeted him softly and went to stand with him. "Is it proper to speak like this?"

He nodded. "For now," he replied. "A good run today."

She flushed with pride, then uncertainty seized her. How much had he seen?

"This afternoon, as well," he continued. "Show me your hand."

She gaped at him in shock and held out her left hand dumbly. He examined the cut, his touch as gentle as the day he'd tended her wounds in the desert, and looked up with his eyes.

"This needs sutures," he told her in a disapproving tone.

"I know," she told him. "But the physician is tending Abdul now."

"Hmmm, how fortunate for him that someone was there to save him from a fatal fall," Malik said in a mocking tone. "He will not thank you for that."

"I know," she replied and heard the sadness in her words.

"Why do you not join them?" he asked.

The abrupt change of topic caught her by surprise. "I have no appetite," she answered finally.

"This evening, perhaps," he said coolly. "And every other meal?"

"I-," she stammered, stung by his tone.

"You join them out of defiance," he told her. "But you most often refrain because you are afraid."

She stared at him, unsure of what to say and unable to deny his words.

"Do you remember," he went on, his voice becoming gentle once again, "what you said to me that day?"

He could only be referring to one thing. "I…wished to become something new," she said.

"You will never become something new if you keep clinging to what you were," he told her.

Her mouth opened in horror and she took a step back from him as hot tears filled her eyes. "And what was I?" she asked in a quaking whisper.

He stepped toward her and she saw pain in his eyes. "Templar prey," he said.

She exhaled what was almost a sob of relief. She had been terrified of what he would say.

"Are you one of them?" he asked, gesturing to the hall where the novices ate. When she hesitated, he continued. "If your answer is not an immediate yes, then nothing has changed. You cannot live forever caught between what you wish had _never_ happened and what you wish _to_ happen."

"What must I do?" she asked.

"Choose how you will be defined," he told her. "Choose how you will be _remembered_." He started to walk away. "Safety and peace, Aliyah."

"Safety and peace, Malik," she replied. How she loved hearing him say her name!

As she climbed the stairs to her room, her grief faded and when she rolled onto her bed and closed her eyes, she remembered the thrill of the run, the freedom she had felt. Even recalling Abdul's treachery could not deprive her of the joy she felt. She _could_ become something new.

As she slept, she began to dream. She stood on the highest cliff in Masyaf, clothed in the robes and veil she had worn while the property of the Templars. The robes were so heavy, almost as though she was trying to walk with chains draped over her body. She wanted to run but the weight was too much and she sank to her knees in despair.

 _I wish to become something new._

She crawled to the edge of the cliff and looked over. An eagle circled below.

 _What must it be like to fly?_

She could fly. She was sure of it. But if she jumped with the weight she carried she could very well be embracing death.

 _You cannot live caught between…_

She had to choose. With terror gripping her soul, she jumped. The robes and veil whipped around her as she fell and the sound of the wind was deafening. Then, they began to rip away as the wind clawed them off her body, revealing white robes underneath. She steadied her fall and spread her arms as though to embrace the air and they became wings.

And she flew.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Homework is still keeping me away. Grrr...all I want to do is write! I had to showcase Malik's skills once again, you know, just in case people were forgetting that he's awesome :)

Enjoy!

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y.r. 1185 A.D.

Malik lay on the rooftop, surveying the ground below and keeping watch over their target. The Templar knight was completely unaware of the two Assassins lurking above his head. Malik looked up at the roof across from him and swore under his breath when he found Altair missing. He searched the area and saw a flash of white as Altair leaped across the space between buildings. Malik shook his head, willing the man to stop, to fall, anything to keep him from attacking the Templar. His replacement would arrive soon and they would be able to kill them both.

Altair hung from the window above, poised to attack and Malik clenched his teeth.

" _Assassin!_ "

The cry rang out and the Templar knight looked up to the window where his comrade was pointing.

Altair cursed and tried to climb back to the roof but the second Templar threw a rock the size of a man's fist and it struck the Assassin on the side of the head. Stunned, Altair lost his grip and fell to the street. The Templars pounced and Malik swore under his breath.

"What are you doing there?" a voice demanded.

Malik rolled over to see a guard advancing with his bow drawn. Malik threw a knife just as the man released his arrow and he collapsed in a heap. Standing, Malik threw a second knife, impaling one of the knights in the arm. The man grasped his arm with a cry of pain and spun around, looking for his attacker. When he spotted Malik on the roof, he cursed vilely and ran for the building.

Meanwhile, Altair had drawn his sword and was trying to defend himself from the first knight. Still dazed from the stone and the fall, he kept retreating until he felt a wall at his back. The Templar laughed and lunged forward, leading with the point of his broadsword. Altair deflected the strike but still felt steel bite deep into his side. With a hiss of pain, he tried to shove the man away. The Templar seized him by the throat and slammed his head back against the wall. Then, he shrieked in pain and clutched at the blade protruding from his upper arm. Altair instantly attacked, kicking the man in the gut and leaping onto him when he fell, driving his hidden blade into the man's neck.

Malik had had time to throw one more knife before the second knight reached the roof where he was. The Templar attacked with a savage downward stroke that would have cleaved Malik in half to the waist. The Assassin dodged backward, skirting the edge of the roof as he drew his short sword. The knight lunged for him and Malik spun out of the way, slicing down the man's back. The steel blade met the steel mail and the Templar turned, unfazed by the hit. He swung again and Malik deflected the blow, locking their blades together at the hilts and forcing the man's sword down. He punched him in the head, and the man wrapped an arm around the Assassin's neck, hurling him to the roof. Before Malik could react, the man loomed over him and wrapped his hands around his throat, crushing the breath from him. The knight had Malik's left arm pinned beneath his knee and the Assassin grasped desperately at his belt for a blade and found none. His vision began to darken, then lighten as the man adjusted his grip and slid Malik to the roof's edge. As the man leaned forward again to apply his weight to Malik's throat, Malik's arm came free and he plunged his hidden blade into the Templar's side. As the knight started to go limp, Malik heaved him over the edge. The Templar gave a cry that ended abruptly when he hit the ground.

Altair climbed the building before the guards came to investigate and found Malik on his knees, gasping for air and clutching his throat.

"We can mark those Templars off of our list," he said, looking down at the bodies.

"You—" even coughing and wheezing, Malik sounded wrathful. "We were…going to…kill them both at…once! What part of that…plan…was not clear to you?!"

Altair looked at him and cocked an eyebrow. "It was unnecessary," he said. "You are too cautious, Malik."

Altair's pompous tone nearly drove Malik beyond the limits of reason. He rose to his feet and approached the other Assassin like a predator.

"What if it had been a novice with you, Altair, instead of me?" he demanded.

Altair's eyes narrowed into the expression of cool arrogance that Malik loathed. "A novice might have learned something."

"Like what?! How to be impaled on a Templar's blade?"

Altair sneered and turned away.

"Do _not_ turn your back to me!" Malik growled.

Altair turned back, a look of genuine surprise on his face. "You threaten me?"

"We were nearly killed because of your arrogance," Malik's voice was low with wrath.

"A gross exaggeration," Altair interrupted haughtily and turned away again.

Malik slammed his fist into Altair's side and the Assassin doubled over in agony, clutching his wound. Blood dripped through his fingers and as he groaned in pain, he flexed his wrist. As his blade extended, Malik stepped on his wrist.

"Listen," he hissed. "For _once_ in your life, listen! I will _not_ die to satisfy your arrogance, nor will I allow another to. I would prefer you dead than to have your pride cost the life of a Brother."

Malik turned on his heel and strode away.

"Malik, do not turn your back on me," Altair warned him.

Malik looked back at him, amused to hear his words repeated. He leaned over the edge of the roof.

"The guards have gone," he said. "If we leave now, we can make it back to the Bureau without trouble. Well, _I_ could." He walked back to Altair and pulled the man roughly to his feet. "You're as pathetic as any novice."

Altair snatched away from him. "I can walk on my own!" he snapped.

"Good, I did not intend to carry you," Malik told him blandly.

Malik's prediction was accurate and they reached the Bureau without incident. Once there, they set about tending their injuries. Altair sutured his side, muttering oaths under his breath and Malik sipped a cup of cold water, certain that he would never be able to swallow properly again.

 _What if Al-Mualim had sent Kadar with him? The foolish boy would have followed Altair's every step._

Malik's fury slowly gave way to sadness. He and Altair had trained together since they were children and had fought well together, both as rivals and allies. Then, one day that changed. He had never been able to recall the exact moment it had happened, nor the moment he had realized it, only that somehow, their rivalry had changed from brotherly to bitter.

The Dai stepped into the room, a piece of paper in his hands.

"Do you have more names for us?" Malik asked.

He nodded. "Two more." He looked at Altair and scowled. "What are you doing? If you wish to bleed to death, do so outside of the Bureau!"

Altair scowled at the man. His side was still bleeding significantly and his hands were shaking. The Dai took the needle and thread from him, ripped out the sutures and began to re-stitch the wound, ignoring Altair's groans of pain.

Malik stood to leave.

"Where are you going?" Altair demanded.

"I can handle these on my own," Malik told him.

Altair started to rise and the Dai forced him back down.

"No, you will stay," he said firmly, still plying the needle through Altair's flesh. "Be sure to return before nightfall."

"I will," Malik replied and climbed the fountain wall to the roof. He climbed the nearby watchtower to plan his route to his first target. Jerusalem stretched out before him and when he had found his destination, he leaped from his perch and landed in a cart of hay abandoned in a side street. When he was certain no one had seen him, he climbed out and slipped away, blending with the crowd in the market.

A voice cried out from a dark side street and Malik broke away from the crowd to investigate. Five soldiers surrounded a young woman, shoving her back and forth between them in cruel sport. Anger filled him to the brim and as he approached them, one of the men tore off her veil and head covering, exposing her fearful face, and another grabbed a handful of her long, black hair. The sight took him back to that afternoon outside Damascus nearly a year ago and before he realized it, two of his knives buried themselves in the soldier's throats. The others charged him, and the woman collapsed to the street, forgotten. He drew his short sword and as each one reached him, he killed them swiftly, coldly. When he was satisfied that no more soldiers would come, he approached the woman. She shrank back from him, sobbing in terror.

"You are safe now," he told her calmly, draping her shawl around her head.

She looked past him at the bodies on the street. "Thank you," she whispered. "I can only imagine what they would have done to me."

Malik's mouth tightened into a thin line. "Return home," he said. "And take care whenever you leave it in the future."

She nodded, got to her feet and ran, disappearing between the buildings.

Malik lingered, unable to stop the flow of memories from that day in the desert. Then, he looked around to make sure he was alone, and climbed up through a destroyed building to the rooftops of Jerusalem. He had Templars to hunt.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: This one's SUPER short you guys because it's necessary and it wouldn't fit in another chapter, so it had to stand on its own. I wanted to show that there were some moments when Malik and Altair actually got along without without utter contempt for each other.

I may had said this before, but please feel free to review! I love to know when you enjoy the story but I also want to know things are unclear or something is underdeveloped. Again, no flaming.

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y.r. 1188 A.D.

Al-Mualim stared down at the body that lay at his feet. Ahmad had been the sixth Assassin he'd sent on a mission that was as shameful as it should have been simple: find and kill Saamir Rahimi. The name left a bitter taste in his mouth and a curse on the lips of every Assassin. The thought that one of their Brothers could betray them was unfathomable and yet, Saamir had. Now, with every Assassin he killed, he grew bolder. The first had been sent back to Masyaf and it was obvious his death had been swift, a single wound to the heart. Ahmad had not been so fortunate. The multiple gashes on his body and face told Al-Mualim that Saamir had toyed with the man before slitting his throat.

The Master knelt beside Ahmad and touched his forehead in a gesture of farewell.

"Peace be upon you, Ahmad," he said softly. "See that he is buried properly," he instructed the men standing there.

As they took Ahmad's body away, Al-Mualim retired to the library. Altair and Malik waited for him in the room.

"Send me after Saamir, Master," Altair said, his voice low with urgency.

"No," Al-Mualim told him.

The flat answer stoked Altair's anger. "Saamir defiled our Order by his treason and now he taunts us with every kill! Send me after him and I will bring you his head!"

"He will expect that, Altair," Al-Mualim replied wearily.

"Send us both, Master," Malik urged him.

"He will expect that, as well," Al-Mualim answered before Malik could continue. "Saamir was the very best of our Order and he is not so confident that he has neglected his training. The two of you are too valuable to risk on a venture that is so likely to end in failure."

The Assassins bowed their heads respectfully, though neither of them were pleased with this decision.

"Then, what do we do, Master?" Altair asked tightly.

"For now, we wait until an opportunity comes that ensures success," Al-Mualim replied, gazing out the window at the darkening sky. "Saamir will not enjoy the fruits of his labors for long. He will be punished for his crimes. But I am unwilling to waste more lives, so we must be patient."

Altair stepped forward. "If we see him in any of the cities—"

"Then, if the opportunity presents itself, I expect you to strike him down," Al-Mualim answered.

The men looked at each other and nodded in satisfaction. Yes, they would wait and perhaps their patience would lull Saamir into overconfidence. Then, when the moment was right, they would strike him down and leave him for the birds and the beasts.

Let the Templars bury their own.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Finally! Here's a nice, long chapter, ladies and gentlemen! Maybe now I can focus on my research paper. Enjoy! :)

Shout out to **hakkai212004**! So glad you took the time to review and I'm thrilled you're enjoying the story! Thanks for reading!

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y.r. 1189 A.D.

Aliyah stood half-crouched in the center of the ring. Five of the other novices surrounded her and she waited for their assault. As she expected, Abdul charged her first and she spun out of his reach only to close the gap immediately and slam the pommel of her knife onto the back of his head. The others attacked then and she turned from one to other, never really seeing them, only reacting to their movements. One by one, they went down then suddenly, she felt another presence behind her and she spun with a kick. Ibrahim dodged the blow, then attacked viciously, pushing her to the edge of the ring. Before he could shove her out, she spun around him and out of his reach. Then, she attacked. Dust billowed up around them as they sparred. Aliyah was able to land solid blows but Ibrahim blocked them sufficiently enough so that she caused him no real harm. For his part, he was only to land glancing hits as she constantly ducked and dodged him. Finally, blades were drawn and they found themselves dodging steel instead of fists until, suddenly, they held their knives to each other's throats. They circled slowly, waiting on the other to make a move.

"Enough," the master said and they broke apart.

Wiping sweat from her eyes, she took her place among the remaining novices outside the ring. Today, they would receive the red sash of an Assassin from Al-Mualim. As the master led them up the path to the fortress, a tremor of excitement ran through her. Five years ago, she had been Templar prey at the mercy of the world with no place and no name. Soon now, she would be something new.

In the courtyard, red sashes lined the stone balustrade and Al-Mualim stood in front of them. As he spoke the words of the Brotherhood's vow, they repeated them, careful not to miss a single word. Then, the other Assassins stepped between them, took a gauntlet, and fastened it onto the left wrist of each novice. Then, they took a sash, and tied it around the waist of each one. As the weight of the sash settled around her waist, she could have wept with joy. However, her heart was hammering in her chest. The master had told them that Al-Mualim would assign them permanent posts after the ceremony.

As they stood before his desk, he withdrew a scroll from his sleeve and began reading off the names of the ones who would remain in Masyaf as part of the guard. Then, he read the names of those who would be deployed to the cities to serve under a Rafiq.

"Abdul," he called. "Report to the Rafiq in Damascus, he will have your instructions."

Abdul stepped forward and took the scroll offered to him. "Yes, Master."

"Ibrahim, go to Jerusalem. Look into the affairs of a man named Robert de Sable and report your findings to me."

Ibrahim bowed and accepted the scroll. "Yes, Master."

"Aliyah," Al-Mualim called her last.

She stepped forward. "Yes, Master?"

He sighed wearily. "This information was kept from the novices so that you could train without distraction," he said. "We have been betrayed. Saamir Rahimi abandoned the Brotherhood some time ago and has thwarted every attempt we have made to bring him to justice."

"How many has he killed, Master?" she asked, feeling indignation burn within her core.

"The six men I sent to kill him," Al-Mualim answered in a grieved voice, "as well as several others in the cities before we were able to change the location of the Bureaus. He was last seen in Acre. I want you to find him…and kill him."

She could not conceal her shock as he placed a single white feather in her hand.

"I pray you will have success in this endeavor," he told her. Then, he nodded, dismissing them all.

Aliyah lingered and out of the corner of her eye, she saw the loathing in Abdul's eyes.

"May I speak, Master?" she asked once the room was empty.

"Speak," he said.

"Forgive me, Master, but I do not know whether I have been given an honor or an insult," she said.

"I gave this task to you because I feel you have the greatest chance for success," he explained patiently.

"Because I am a woman," she stated. "You believe that my gender may give me an advantage the others lacked."

"Yes," he replied. "Because you are a woman, he may underestimate you, or at least become overconfident."

"I should expect him to feel grievously insulted," she remarked.

Al-Mualim conceded with a nod. "Yes, I have no doubt of that. However, that may be what drives him to make a fatal mistake."

"The irony of this task is not lost on me," she said. "If I succeed, no one will be able to deny me a place here. If I fail, the Brotherhood will at last be free of an embarrassment spanning five years."

Al-Mualim said nothing, but the silence answered her as clearly as a shout.

"I will return as soon as it is done," she told him and turned toward the doors.

"Aliyah," he called and she paused. "You know you may never command their respect. Even if you complete this task, and one hundred others like it."

She turned back to him, an odd half-smile on her lips. "They do not have to respect _me_ , Master, only my blade."

She selected a brown mare from the stable and began the three day ride to Acre. As the walls of the city came into view, she covered her white robes with a brown cloak. She had no doubt that Saamir had men watching, ready to notify him the moment an Assassin entered the city. Once inside, she would locate the Bureau and find out more information about her target. As she found her way into the souk, her pulse climbed with her anxiety. Such a simple disguise would not hide her long from Saamir and in the noise, she would never hear his approach.

Suddenly, she caught a flash of white in a doorway and she slowly made her way to it. Standing under the arch, hidden in the shadows, was a robed man carefully watching the crowd. He flexed his left hand and she glimpsed the stub of his missing finger. Cautiously, she slipped through a small group of people and entered the doorway beside him.

He instantly spun toward her, drawing a curved blade from the folds of his robe.

"Peace!" she said, her voice quiet but forceful.

"What do you want, woman?" he hissed angrily.

"I must speak with the Rafiq," she told him

He smirked. "You are in the wrong part of the city, then."

"Is that why you guard this door so closely?" she asked.

His black eyes narrowed dangerously. "Walk away, woman. I am not to harm the innocent but if you remain here, I will consider you a threat."

"I have been sent by Al-Mualim," she told him. "I seek Saamir Rahimi."

"You are mad, woman," he told her. "Be gone."

She extended her left hand as though to ask for coin but tugged back the fabric to reveal the gauntlet she wore. A shocked curse slipped from his lips.

"What is this?" he asked hoarsely.

"I must speak with the Rafiq," she repeated urgently.

He shook his head, too stunned to speak. "I do not understand this," he said at last.

"I will explain everything as soon as I am able," she promised. "But I must—"

"Speak with the Rafiq," he finished. He licked his lips nervously. "Just outside the souk, there is a man selling vegetables. Ask him if he will sell you five oranges for one silver piece. He will ask you 'Must it be oranges?' and you are to reply 'Yes, five oranges, no more no less.' Do you understand?"

She nodded and concealed her gauntlet. "Safety and peace," she said and walked away with her head bowed.

When she found the vegetable stand, there was a small crowed standing around it. She stepped into the fringe of it and forced herself to take a deep breath. This was not her first assignment. More than once, the novices had been sent to discover information about a target for another Assassin.

 _But this is different. The tiniest misstep will mean my life._

As the crowd dispersed, she made her way to the stand.

"Will you sell me five oranges for one silver piece?" she asked.

He looked at her in surprise. "Must it be oranges?" he asked, struggling to conceal his utter shock.

"Yes, five oranges, no more no less," she answered.

"Hmm, let me see," he said and leaned over. "I appear to have sold them all," he said, standing up again. He pressed a note into her hand. "Here, take this to the port. My son is there selling fruit to the sailors, perhaps he can help you find what you need."

"Thank you," she said.

"Safety and peace," he told her quietly.

"Safety and peace," she replied.

The port reeked of spoiled fish and tar. Just inside the gate, there was a man selling various fruits.

She walked up to him. "Will you sell me five oranges for one silver piece?"

He glared at her. "Is my father trying to mind my business as well as his own?"

She smiled slightly at his gruffness. "It would seem so," she said and handed him the paper. "I was told you could help me."

He read it briefly, then ripped it in half and gave it back. "I don't have what you're looking for. Go to the eastern watch tower. You might get a better idea of where you need to go. Safety and peace."

"Safety and peace."

As she made her way to the tower, her anxiety began to grow again. She felt completely exposed walking the streets and her back between her shoulder blades began to burn with the expectation of a blade.

A man in gray robes stood by the tower and when he saw her approaching, his hand went inside his robe, no doubt to grip a blade.

"What do you want, woman? This place is not safe for you," he told her.

"I wish to buy five oranges for a silver piece," she said. "But I am not sure where I need to go to find them."

He blinked at her a moment and though the lower half of his face was covered, she was sure she saw his mouth open.

"What have you there?" he asked, pointed to the paper in her hand.

"I am not sure anymore," she answered.

"Let me see," he said and took the torn pieces. He looked at her in astonishment for a moment, then he jerked his head toward a half-burned building. "That door there. Be careful."

She nodded and went inside, only to find no door inside. However, as she stepped further in, the floor creaked beneath her boot and she swept the dirt away with her hands, unearthing a trapdoor. She pulled the heavy door open and dropped into darkness. As soon as her feet touched the ground, blades appeared at her throat and she smelled sweat and fear.

"Safety and peace," she said, still on her knees.

Someone uncovered a lantern, revealing three Assassins standing around her.

"How did you find this place?" one of them demanded harshly.

"I spoke to a man in the souk, who sent me to trader outside of the souk, who sent me to a trader in the port, who sent me to the eastern watch tower, who sent me to investigate a burned home," she answered. "Quite the journey when one considers I was only meant to buy five oranges with one silver piece."

They stepped back and allowed her to stand.

"Why would they send a woman here?" another asked.

"I must speak with the Rafiq," she said. "Al-Mualim sent me to inquire after Saamir Rahimi."

Their eyes smoldered at the name.

"Have our numbers dwindled to so small an amount?" the third man asked, alarmed.

She could have smiled at his assumption. Why else would woman come for information about Saamir?

The first man held a dagger to her throat. "Who are you?" he breathed dangerously.

"My name is Aliyah," she told him. "I've come from Masyaf."

He glared down at her a moment longer. "Come with me."

He led her into a larger room, lit with candles and lanterns. Several Assassins lay on blankets on the floor, all severely wounded.

"Saadiq," one of them moaned, reaching toward the Assassin. "Please…water…"

Saadiq knelt beside him, raised his head and held a flask to his dry lips. "Slowly, Waseem." He glanced over his shoulder at Aliyah. "What, woman? Have you never seen dying men before?" he snapped, seeing her distraught expression.

"Many times," she answered. "But never ones I cared for."

"How could you care for them? You are not one of us," he snarled.

She met his hostile gaze. "Al-Mualim would disagree with you."

He stood slowly and fixed her with cold look. "Would he, indeed?"

She held his gaze without flinching, ready for him to strike her.

He shook his head in disgust. "Why are you here?"

"I have come for the life of Saamir Rahimi," she told him evenly.

One eyebrow went up and he looked to be on the verge of laughing in her face.

"Good, cut off…the rest of his fingers…and give him my greetings," Waseem said, coughing painfully.

Saadiq snapped around. "Get some rest, Waseem," he said with gruff gentleness. "Keep your strength."

Realization dawned on Aliyah. "Five oranges," she murmured, "and one silver piece."

"What?" Saadiq demanded.

"There are only five of you left," she said. "And the least amount of payment a doctor will accept here is a silver piece for each patient."

His eyes softened a little. "This is true."

"Al-Mualim said that the Bureaus were found before the Assassins could move," she said, looking around at the men writhing on blankets or lying far too still. "Saamir did this."

"He did not wield the blade, but he certainly directed it."

They both turned toward the new voice. An old man entered the room with a bucket of water and a handful of rags.

"Peace, Saadiq," he said. "She is one of us."

"A _woman_!?" Saadiq exclaimed.

"I said much the same thing when I received Al-Mualim's message," the Rafiq replied. "Why have you come?"

Aliyah stepped forward and held out the white feather. "I have come to take the life of Saamir Rahimi."

"Have you?" the Rafiq asked in an unimpressed tone, dropping to his knees to wipe the fever sweat from one the men's forehead. "And why do you assume that you will succeed when we have failed? Has the Brotherhood truly fallen to such disgrace?"

"I am certain that the Brotherhood will benefit regardless of which one of us dies," she answered and the Rafiq looked at her in surprise.

"Saamir was last seen near the fortress of William of Montferrat," he told her. "I have nothing else."

"Thank you, Rafiq," she said gratefully.

"You are a fool," he snapped.

"I have been many things, Rafiq," she said without taking offense.

"…cold…I am…cold," Waseem moaned pitifully.

Aliyah turned to the wounded man and knelt by his side. She draped her robe over him and smoothed his hair back from his face. Saadiq placed a basin of water by her knee and handed her a cloth. As he went to care for another, she bathed Waseem's face with the cool water.

"Saamir…he will not expect…you," he muttered in feverish excitement. "…he won't expect…maybe…maybe you _can_ …kill him…"

"Perhaps," she agreed.

When night fell, she left the hideout and headed toward the fortress to hunt Saamir. The man would die if she had to slit his throat while he slept. The full moon was behind the clouds but still provided enough light for her to move quickly along the rooftops. When she reached the wall, she paused, searching for a way to climb inside the fortress. Suddenly, the gate opened just enough to allow three men to pass through. She ducked behind a rooftop garden, then slipped through the curtain to spy, her heart hammering in her chest. One of the men wore the robes and hood of an Assassin.

She had found Saamir.

She waited until they had passed below her, then she followed, skirting the edges of buildings, jumping from roof to roof, careful to keep her shadow from falling across their path. As they made their way along the twisted streets, she realized with horror that he was heading toward the Assassins' hideout. They turned down a side street and Aliyah crept to the edge. Her shadow fell behind her like a shed cloak. Gripping her throwing knives, she hurled two toward the men.

Saamir felt a sudden change in the air and grabbed one of the men accompanying him. The guard's startled cry ended in a choking gasp of agony and the second man dropped to the ground dead. Saamir glanced at him and recognized the blade protruding from his neck. He looked up toward the roof and saw the white-robed figure.

"They assumed they were here for my protection," he called up smugly. "Truthfully, they were here for my convenience. I haven't yet found the time to bother with dying."

Aliyah dropped to the street. The moon slipped out from behind the clouds and bathed the sun-bleached stone walls in blue-white light.

"He sent six men, all of them of a higher rank than you, and all of them I sent back to him dead," Saamir stated, his dark eyes glittering. "I suppose Al-Mualim wants more blood."

"Only yours, Saamir," Aliyah replied.

His eyes went wide in shock, then he began to laugh uproariously.

"A woman? Pardon me while I decide to be either amused or insulted," he bared his teeth in a predatory smile that she knew well. "I suppose he ran out of men. What will he send next? Children?"

Aliyah watched him, tightening her grip on her short blade, waiting for him to move. Even from a distance, she could see that he towered over her. If she engaged him head on, he would overpower her easily and death would be a mercy. Sweat trickled down her back and her mouth was dry with fear.

"Though I would greatly enjoy having my way with you, I shall have to abstain from that pleasure and indulge in another."

His arm moved in a blur as he flung a knife toward her. She barely managed to spin out of its path and felt it brush her cheek just beneath her right eye. When she looked again, he was standing in the middle of the street with his sword drawn. Anger burned hot within her. She thought of the six Assassins buried at Masyaf, of the ones hiding in Acre, clinging to life for want of a doctor. Her short blade could withstand his sword, she was sure of it.

He motioned her forward with a taunting curl of his finger. "Come, girl, let us end this folly."

She sprinted down the street toward him, her boots kicking up dust and he was smiling! As she came closer, his arm moved again and he hurled a second knife. She ducked just enough so that it passed over her shoulder, then, she veered toward the wall on her right. As she ran three steps up the stone, her arms crossed over her chest and one hand closed on a throwing knife.

The other closed on Malik's dagger secured against her heart.

She hurled her blade at his face and as he dodged it, her final step launched her off the wall and before he could recover, she plunged the dagger deep into the base of his neck. In the same moment, as he gasped in shock and pain, she drove her hidden blade into his heart. His legs collapsed beneath him and he fell onto his back, gasping for air. She withdrew her blades and cradled his head. Blood ran from his mouth and his arms and legs began to twitch.

"Why would you betray the Brotherhood, Saamir?" she asked, grieved.

He laughed, a harsh, horrible, wet sound. Then, his eyes glazed and he stared sightlessly at the stars above.

As she slid the feather through his blood, her throat tightened and she heaved a deep sigh to control herself.

 _Do we all feel this way after our first kill?_

Then, she remembered the Assassins of Acre and she cut Saamir's purse off his belt, finding it heavy with coin.

She made her way back to the hideout and when she dropped down through the trapdoor, no blades greeted her. When she entered the room where the wounded were, the Rafiq was there tending the men, propping them up against the walls so they could eat some thin stew. Saadiq remained but the other two Assassins had been replaced by the one from the souk and the one from the tower.

"What news, woman? Is Saamir still in the fortress?" the Rafiq asked over his shoulder.

"Saamir Rahimi is dead," she told him.

In the stunned silence that followed, every man stared at her in disbelief.

"Have you proof of this?" the Rafiq asked, standing and facing her

She held out her bloody feather and a collective gasp of surprise went up from the group.

"I can hardly believe it," the Rafiq said, stepping toward her.

"She holds the proof of the task, Jabal," Saadiq told him. "How?"

"He barely fought back," she said, her tone confused.

"He was overconfident," the Rafiq replied. "A fatal mistake." He stared at the feather a moment longer, then started to turn away.

"Rafiq," she called him back and handed him Saamir's purse. "He caused their wounds, he can enable their healing."

The old man's eyes widened even further. "Saadiq," he called.

"Yes," Saadiq replied, took the purse and left in search of a doctor.

"Come, Aliyah, rest and eat," Jabal told her.

"Rest I will, Rafiq, but feed your men first. If there is any left at the end, then I will eat," she told him, sitting against the wall. She fell asleep with her legs crossed beneath her and her chin on her chest, not even waking when Jabal shook her shoulder to offer her food, nor when he cleaned the cut on her face.

When she rode through the gate of Masyaf three days later, she was both weary and exultant. She stabled her mare and walked the path to the fortress. Al-Mualim was in the library with Altair, Malik, Abbas and several others, much like the day she had requested to join the novices in training. As she strode into the room, all conversation ceased and Al-Mualim stared at her in amazement.

She stopped before the desk and pulled the feather from her belt. "Saamir is dead," she said simply.

He took the feather as though it was fragile and precious. "You have done well, Aliyah," he told her, fatherly pride in his voice. "You have done well, indeed. Now, there is only one thing left to do."

"What is that, Master?" she asked

"Commitment requires sacrifice," he said, holding up his left hand so she could see his missing finger. "Are you willing?"

Pride swelled in her chest. "I am," she replied.

He led her outside to the courtyard and placed her hand on a pedestal. Drawing an ornate dagger from his robe, he repeated the vow of the Brotherhood, and brought the blade down, severing the third finger of her left hand.

Aliyah focused on the horizon, the sun setting into the sea in a fiery display of red and gold. She saw the knife rise, she saw it fall, she felt the sudden burn as it severed her finger. The pain was a dull ache that intensified to a sharp pulse that caused her to clench her teeth but underneath the pain was a relief that was so sudden, so sweet, that she could have wept with joy.

 _I am something new._


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Hihi! So this one isn't the longest chapter but it isn't the shortest either. It's also currently 2am but I had just finished writing a research paper for school and I decided I could reward myself with some write-time and finish this part.

I love that you guys take the time to review the story, it makes my day every time I see them. I hope you continue to enjoy!

A/N: Also, ohmygosh, you guys! Sister Location is insane! Definitely gonna be writing a fic for it to go along with my other FNAF fics! I'm so excited! I wish I could play them myself but I can't so I have to watch them on YouTube *not-so-sadface*

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Aliyah walked to the grotto that evening, seeking some peace and quiet. Although the others had congratulated her during the evening meal, the dull, pulsing pain in her hand was matched by a dull ache in her heart.

 _Could Saamir not have been made to see reason—his error?_

Remembering his laughter as he died told her it would have been impossible but she could not deny the disquiet she felt. Beneath her joy, she grieved for him.

She stepped to the edge of the pool and sighed as the sound of the small waterfall at the far end soothed her mind. She started to sit on a rock when movement caught her eye. Malik knelt at the water's edge, splashing his face and neck, his robe on the ground beside him.

"Forgive me," she said, startled. "I thought I was alone."

He looked up in surprise, then a look of amusement came into his dark eyes. "As did I." He stood and she averted her eyes respectfully. Then longing overwhelmed her and she glanced up briefly, seeing the water slide over his muscled back as he retrieved his shirt and robes. Shame knifed through her and she looked away again.

 _I should not look at him in such a way. He is not my husband, nor will he ever be._

"I will leave you," he said, pulling his hood up.

"No," she said as he walked past her. He paused and looked at her curiously. "I…wish you would stay." Her words shocked her as much as her nerve to speak them.

"What troubles you?" he asked, looking at her in concern. His gaze fell to the bandage on her hand. "Do you feel as though you have made a mistake?"

"No," she answered, looking down at her missing finger. "Not in this."

"Then, what?" he asked.

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it just as quickly.

"What were you going to say, Aliyah?" he asked gently, seeing the furtive look in her eyes.

"Did Saamir have to die?" she asked quietly. "Could he not have been made to see his error?"

Malik's gaze hardened with anger. "He betrayed us, Aliyah. Hunted us. _Murdered_ us."

"I know," she said, her voice tortured. "I know…I do, but…" her eyes pleaded for his understanding. "He laughed as he died," she told him, haunted by the memory. "He _laughed_ …as though he had enjoyed what he had done and found it… _amusing_ that we would never understand why."

Her sudden vulnerability made him check his temper. After carrying out so many of Al-Mualim's assignments, he had nearly forgotten how the first had affected him.

"Once he was a good man," he told her, his voice gentle once again. "We may never know what caused him to change."

She nodded, dropping her eyes from his searching gaze.

"Look at me, Aliyah," he said, stepping closer to her. "You did what was right," he told her when she met his gaze. "What was just. This reaction, these emotions, they _are_ normal."

Her mouth quirked into a sardonic half-smile. "Because I am a woman? Soft and weak?"

He smiled at her words. "A woman, surely. Soft, perhaps, but not weak. I hope you never lose that softness. It will be what preserves you." He chuckled. "For all the changes you have undergone, you are wholly unchanged. I am grateful for that."

She looked at him in confusion and dismay. "If change is what I sought, how could _that_ possibly be good?"

He cocked his head thoughtfully. "Do you recall that day, when I told you how I knew you were alive?"

She remembered. The memory was one of her fondest. "I do."

" _That_ has not changed," he told her. "That is what I most feared _would_ change and what I am happy to see has not. Even now, you are innocent. Pure."

She looked away, touched and horrified that he would use such a word to describe her. "How can you speak of me as pure?"

"When a theft occurs, the victim is not punished," he said. "And what was taken does not cease to belong to them."

"What was taken from me can never be regained, Malik," she said sadly.

"That depends on what you believe you lost," he replied, a look in his eyes she'd never seen before. "You are no longer prey."

Those words coaxed a small smile from her. "No, not any longer."

"Come with me," he said, jerking his head toward the grotto path. She followed him without hesitation, curious as to what he had in mind. He stopped when they reached the field and pointed to the cliff where her master had placed the flag so long ago. "Can you reach the top before I do?"

She looked at him in surprise. "What is up there?"

"The ability to say you got there first," he said with a challenging smirk.

Her eyes narrowed, she smiled and took off at a sprint, knowing he was not far behind. She leaped toward the rocks, found purchase in the cracks and began climbing. Though she had kept ahead of him across the field, he caught and passed her on the cliff face. The wind buffeted them, threatening to dislodge them. When the ground was far below, she looked up to see how close she was to the top. Though she was behind Malik, if he lingered in one spot she could catch him. The wind caught her hood and pushed it back off her head, causing her hair to whip around her face and uncoiling her braid. Malik reached the top and soon she was pulling herself over the edge, as well. Though she had never caught up to him, she had never fallen farther behind than an extra arm's length.

"Here," he said, extending a hand to pull her to her feet.

She accepted gratefully and stood beside him, looking at the sea, at the sliver of sun still visible on the horizon.

"I didn't reach the top first," she said, but didn't really care.

He smiled. "No, you didn't."

"You are stronger than I am," she told him. "You had an advantage in the climb."

"You are faster than I am," he replied.

She looked at him as though he was mad. "No."

"You are," he insisted.

"I do not believe that will ever be possible,' she stated with a laugh. She heaved the air in with a sigh. "I never want to lose this freedom," she said, as though she feared she might.

He looked at her, noticing the changes she had undergone. Five years of training had burned away the soft curves Hashima's care had placed on her and her body was lean and hard. Her eyes, however, still held a look of wonder for the world around her and her face was open and innocent. Hashima had confessed to him that she had had to cut off Aliyah's hair but now it fell to her waist in a thick, black braid and loose tendrils curled around her jaw. She was different, yet the same.

He gestured to the horizon. "Make your life what you wish it to be," he told her. "You have that choice now."

"What I wish it to be," she repeated and if the wind had been still, he would have heard the careful neutrality of her tone.

The sun slipped beneath the sea and darkness began its approach toward land.

 _What I wish it to be…Oh, Malik, they took all of that from me, as well._


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: Hello, hello! I'm back! We're in familiar territory this time. I'm sure you guys will recognize the scene and dialogue but there are differences. I didn't want to recount these moments step-by-step and I was worried that if I did, it would detract from the rest of things. After all, this story is meant to run along side AC events. Just know that any and all alterations were deliberate and intended to be respectful to the utmost.

Just curious, but does anyone else feel the overwhelming desire to punch Altair in the face? I sure do and did the whole time I wrote this part.

Shoutout to **Foxface**! Thanks for reviewing! So happy you like the story thus far. I'll try to clear up some of your questions. They did hate her guts. Malik warned her that they would because, it isn't just that at that time, women were seen as severely inferior to men, for the Assassins, they saw it as an insult to the Brotherhood and them on a personal level. However, only four of the novices actually attacked her, only Abdul tried repeatedly to kill her, and Ibrahim took her side early on. Even when the hatred began to dissipate, they still weren't sure what to think of her or how to treat her. As to your actual question...I can't answer that without divulging spoilers ;) Hang tight! There's more to come and I will say this: there's lots of satisfaction on the way.

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y.r. 1190 A.D.

The cavern magnified even the tiniest noise and Malik winced with every step they took. Finally, unable to take any more, he stopped moving.

"Let me scout ahead," he told Altair. "One of us will not make so much noise and we may be able to move more quickly."

"Go, then," Altair replied with a dismissive jerk of his head.

Malik hesitated, looking at his brother. He was tempted to bring Kadar with him but that would defeat the purpose of scouting ahead. Shaking his head, he made his way farther down the tunnel until he came to an intersection. He motioned for the others to come ahead. Altair scowled at him but Kadar looked around with an excitement and awe that was almost childlike.

"Solomon's Temple is that way," Malik told them, indicating the tunnel on their right.

"I'll check," Altair said. "We don't need to waste time going the wrong way."

Malik said nothing as Altair left, the man's pride would not be reasoned with but if Malik criticized him, Kadar would defend him and that would be more than Malik could stand at the moment.

"Why are we here?" Kadar asked.

"Did the Master not tell you?" Malik asked in return.

"No," Kadar replied unhappily.

"Then it isn't for you to know," Malik told him. "You should be honored that he sent you with us."

"I am," Kadar assured him quickly.

"Then leave it at that, little brother," Malik said, though he could tell by Kadar's frown that he was less than satisfied. "Where is he? He is taking too long." Malik started off down the tunnel with Kadar trailing after him. As it sloped steeply down, instead of slowing his advance, he balanced himself and began to slide. Something was wrong.

"Altair?" he hissed into the dim light of the torches.

"Is he there?" Kadar asked coming beside him.

Malik shook his head and started off again, wanting to run but knowing they needed to be cautious. As he rounded a corner, he saw Altair. The man had his hidden blade extended and as Malik approached, intending to demand an explanation, he saw an old man standing in the mouth of a side tunnel watching Altair with a look of terror.

"No, wait!" Malik cried, rushing forward to block Altair as the man turned his back to them and knelt on the sandy floor of the tunnel with a look of resignation. "There must be another way. This one need not die!"

Altair shoved past Malik and drove his blade through the heart of the old man.

"He would have given away our location," Altair responded coolly.

"Fortune favors your blade, Altair," Kadar said.

Malik looked at his brother in shock. "He was an innocent!"

"Skill, not fortune," Altair replied proudly. "Watch a while longer and you might learn something."

"Yes," Malik interjected sarcastically, "He'll teach you to disregard _everything_ the Master has taught us."

"What would you have done, Malik?" Altair demanded snidely.

"I would not have drawn attention to us. I would not have taken the life of an innocent! I would have followed the Creed!"

"Nothing is true, everything is permitted. Understand these words. It matters not how our task is completed, only that it is," Altair told him.

"That is not the way of the Creed!" Malik argued.

"My way is better."

Malik looked away, knowing that nothing he said would change the situation. "I will scout ahead," he told them wearily. "Try not to dishonor us further."

As he walked away, Kadar stepped up to Altair. "What is our mission? My brother will tell me nothing. Only that I should be honored to be here."

"The Master believes that the Templars have found something beneath the Temple Mount," Altair told him.

"Treasure?" Kadar exclaimed.

"I do not know. We only know that the Master believes it to be important," Altair said. "He would not have sent me to retrieve it, otherwise."

Kadar nodded, indeed feeling honored to be involved the mission, and ran to catch up to Malik.

Malik made his way down the tunnel, grieving for the old man's unnecessary death, for Altair's prideful disregard of the Creed, for Kadar's unwavering admiration the man!

 _The Master must be made aware. His arrogance is boundless!_

As he leaped across a chasm, he spied a Templar guard in the doorway leading into the cavern. Altair stepped past him and plunged his blade into the man's back. Then, they stepped into the cavernous room. The ceiling disappeared into gloom high above them and Solomon's Temple stood on their right sealed in the stone. Malik heard Kadar's quick intake of breath and, in spite of himself, he almost smiled at his brother's surprise.

"Robert de Sable!" Altair hissed. "His life is mine!"

"No," Malik said forcefully but knowing his words would fall on deaf ears. "Our orders were to retrieve the treasure and only deal with Robert if necessary."

"He is between us and it," Altair argued hotly. "I believe that makes it necessary! Do not be a coward."

Malik barely heard the insult. "Discretion, Altair! You would break the third tenant of the Creed? You would compromise the Brotherhood?" he exclaimed, fearing what might come if Altair did not see reason.

"I am your superior!" Altair snapped. "You should know better than to question me."

Before Malik could stop him, Altair leaped from the ledge to land before Robert and his Templar knights. Malik leaped to the ground below, Kadar on his heels, and ran for Altair.

"What do you want, Assassin?" Robert asked in a mocking tone.

"Blood," Altair replied coldly and charged Robert.

"No! Don't!" Malik cried, reaching out to grasp Altair's arm only to just miss.

Robert ducked Altair's attack, slammed his fist into the Assassin's face and gripped his wrists, holding him back. "I spare you only so that you may deliver a message to your Master," he said smugly as Altair struggled in his grip. "Tell him to flee while he has the chance. Choose to stay, and you will all die!"

With the smallest shift in his stance, Robert hurled Altair through the doorway behind him. Altair rolled desperately to avoid being crushed by the falling wood and stone.

Malik stared in horror as the doorway became blocked by the massive debris. Then, he felt the blood drain from his face as Robert turned his attention on them. Kadar had barely survived his battle with Pierre Delacroix. Robert de Sable was a far superior fighter.

"Kill the Assassins!" Robert cried, his voice an odd mixture of rage and satisfaction, his hand resting securely on the bulging satchel he wore.

"Kadar! To me!" Malik shouted for his brother.

Kadar placed himself against Malik's back, blades drawn watching the Templars surround them. As they charged, the brothers fought back to back until the Templars forced them apart. One knight attacked Malik from behind and while he was able to dodge the blade, the man slammed his head into the rock. Sweat and blood poured down Malik's face as he cut the man down with a vicious slash across his throat, nearly decapitating him. Then, as another charged Kadar from behind, Malik threw one of his daggers. The blade caught the man in the throat and he staggered, collapsing to the stone floor in a pool of blood. If they could survive this onslaught, then he and Kadar could both deal with Robert.

Suddenly, one of the knights slammed his sword through Malik's upper arm. Screaming in pain, Malik slashed the throat of another man, then raised his blade to bring it down on the knight's face. With a savage grunt of effort, the knight shoved the sword deeper into Malik's arm, twisting the blade.

Malik sank to his knees, mouth open in a soundless scream as he felt the steel scrape bone as the Templar kept pushing and twisting. With a violent heave, he shoved Malik onto his back and pulled a jeweled dagger from his belt. Malik desperately looked for his brother. Kadar was still on his feet, fighting with all of his strength. Then, as Malik watched, a knight ran his sword through Kadar's chest at the same moment a second knight ran his sword through his brother's back.

" _Kadar!_ " Malik screamed in agony as his brother sagged on his feet, supported by the blades in his body. As he felt cold steel press against his neck, he slammed his hidden blade into the Templar's leg. The man lurched back with a cry and Malik rolled to his knees and pounced, driving the blade into the man's throat. Then, standing, he hurled his knives at the remaining knights, knowing most of them would miss their marks but only needing to slow them down.

His last dagger, he flung at Robert.

As the knife spun through the air, Malik charged the Templar and when Robert ducked the blade, Malik rammed the man with his shoulder, slamming him into the rocks. Robert's hand went for his weapon but Malik had no intention of lingering for a fight. He cut the satchel off the Templar and ran down a narrow side passage. He slipped and slid down the sloping path, his arm throbbed and his head burned. When it ended in at a cave-in, he almost cried out in despair. Looking around desperately, he saw the remnants of an upper hallway, long crumbled away, and beyond, the dark recess of a room. With the sounds of pursuit echoing behind him, he tied the satchel straps together and began to climb the rough stone. Every movement sent blood spurting from his arm and his grip was weak. He managed to reach the top and haul himself over the edge as Robert and the others entered the room.

"You will not get away, Assassin!" Robert menaced, pointing his sword up to the ledge where Malik lay gasping for breath.

Malik struggled to his feet, looked down briefly to reassure himself that the Templar's could not follow him, and sprinted into the darkness of an upper hall. He did not stop running until he saw daylight and realized that the smooth stone had changed into a roughly hewn mine tunnel. From the thickness of the dust and lack of footprints, he doubted it had been used for some time.

 _If this is a mine, then Robert will be able to find another passage to follow me._

Looking around, blinking painfully in the sunlight glaring down the tunnel, he spied a wooden support beam. He kicked it savagely and had the satisfaction of hearing a groan in the rock. A few more kicks and rock and debris began to shower him. He sprinted one final time for the entrance and just made it outside when the tunnel collapsed. Dust exploded past him, enveloped him and he fell on his face, coughing and choking. As the dust settled, he managed to drag himself into the cover of the rocks to hide. He could hear men's voices and knew it wouldn't be long before they came to investigate.

He checked inside the satchel. He had taken it on instinct and hoped that it held what they had been sent to retrieve and not the Templar's travel rations. Inside, he caught a glimpse of a silver orb. Satisfied, he closed the satchel and set about tying off his arm to stop the bleeding. His head spun and he doubted he had the strength to return to Masyaf.

"I must return to Masyaf," he said aloud. "I must return…I must…" His wound throbbed in rhythm with his pulse. His breathing became ragged and tears came to his eyes. He felt as though he was dying and when he closed his eyes to block the pain, he found himself back in the Temple, his brother lying dead in a pool of blood.

 _Kadar should never have been there! The Master should never have allowed it! I should never have allowed it! I should have killed Altair in the tunnels, before he could confront Robert! I should have…_

"Kadar!" he cried, his voice choked by grief. He buried his face in his elbow and wept, sobs shaking his entire body, until he was certain he would be sick.

 _I must return to Masyaf…_

With a deep shuddering breath, he stood and walked toward the city. He had not gone far when he found a group of horses tied under a tree wearing Templar saddles.

 _A tiny, petty form of vengeance, would it not be?_

With a smirk, he strode to one of the animals, mounted it and rode for Masyaf.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Had to finish this one because it's a continuation of the previous chapter. Seriously, if there hadn't been a serious scene jump it would have been the same chapter.

Enjoy :)

A/N: Sorry, this is a re-upload. I found some mistakes that I had to fix (skipped words, things like that). Guess that's what I get for writing in the middle of the night :) If anyone does a re-read and finds more, please let me know.

A/N: AAGGHH! I messed up badly and I just now realized it! Malik lost his arm past the elbow and I said it was his forearm! *sigh* so I've fixed it. I couldn't leave it that way. I know it's a long time past, but I just couldn't.

* * *

y.r. 1190 A.D.

Aliyah positioned herself in the corner of two buildings, her right hand gripping a window, her left hand held out for balance. Beneath her, a Templar knight stood on guard, a chest behind him. She looked up at the roof across from her hiding spot and saw Saadiq creep to the edge. He raised his fist in the air, signaling her to attack.

Extending her hidden blade, she did not leap so much as fall, plunging the blade into his neck as she landed on his shoulders, driving him to the ground. He died without a sound.

Saadiq dropped to the street beside her. "Well done," he said approvingly.

She looked up at him and nodded, acknowledging the praise with small smile. She searched the dead man until she found a piece of parchment with the names of the Damascus Assassins. He was the last of Saamir's informers and with his death, the Assassins could finally reestablish the Bureau.

She opened the chest next. "Saadiq, look at this!" she exclaimed softly. "There is enough food here to feed a family well for a week and enough gold to provide for two families for a month!"

"No doubt it was theirs to begin with," Saadiq remarked caustically. "You need to return to Masyaf and let Al-Mualim know that we are safe again. I will return here with Waseem and the others and collect the contents of the chest. The Rafiq will know best what to do with them."

She nodded and closed the chest, pushing into a pile of crates and baskets and arranging them around and on top of it to hide it. Then, they climbed to the rooftop, reaching it just as a guard found the body of the Templar. They made their way back to the building the Assassins had taken refuge in after Saamir's death and they all agreed it was much better than the dank cellar they had hidden in at the beginning. However, when they arrived, they found it empty.

"What?" Aliyah looked around anxiously.

"Wait," Saadiq told her. Her went to a small table and flipped it over. The symbol of the Brotherhood was carved into the wood. "They have returned already," he said and proceeded to scrape the wood with his knife until the carving had vanished.

"Already?" Aliyah repeated in surprise.

"Apparently, they had great faith in our success," Saadiq replied dryly.

"I might feel better if they had a little less faith," she said with a nervous laugh.

Saadiq actually grinned at that and they made their way to the Bureau. Once they were inside, Saadiq sank onto the pillows and Aliyah scooped water from the fountain and washed her face, relishing the relief from the heat.

"Don't let Jabal see you doing that," Saadiq warned her, pouring himself a drink.

"Why? Would he try to persuade me that that is not its intended purpose?" she asked.

"He would try," Saadiq answered.

"He would try what?" Jabal asked suspiciously.

Saadiq looked away to hide his guilt and Aliyah faced the Rafiq.

"The last of Saamir's informers has been eliminated," she reported, not bothering to answer the question.

"Excellent," Jabal said. "Excellent. I am sure Al-Mualim will be pleased with that report."

"I hope so," she answered.

"Be off with you, then," he said, making a shooing gesture.

She smiled. "Thank you, Rafiq," she said, pressing her left hand to her chest and bowing slightly.

"Safety and peace," he said and stepped back inside.

"Safety and peace, Aliyah," Saadiq said.

"Safety and peace, Saadiq," she replied and climbed out of the Bureau.

Three days later, when she rode through the gates of Masyaf the sight of dozens of bodies greeted her, Assassin and Templar alike. Horror filled her and she drove the horse up the narrow trail to the fortress. Assassins milled about inside and she calmed somewhat. However, as she made her way up the stairs to the library only to find it empty, a sick dread filled her.

"Master?" she called.

"Yes, Aliyah, come here," his voice came from the bookshelves on the right.

"Master, what happened here?" she asked. "Where is everyone?"

Al-Mualim stepped around the shelf, his face weary and pained. "The Templars found their way to our home."

She had suspected that much. "How?"

He sighed. "The Templars had discovered a treasure beneath Jerusalem, in Solomon's Temple. I dispatched Altair, Malik and Kadar to retrieve it."

"Were they successful?" she asked.

"In a sense," he replied slowly. "We have acquired the treasure, but at great cost."

"How many lives were lost?" she asked, afraid of what the answer might be.

"Too many," he answered. "Though not as many as it might have been."

"What of Altair, Malik and Kadar?" she asked. "I have not seen them and I would have expected Altair, at least, to be here."

"Altair…awaits my judgement," Al-Mualim said sadly. "It was he who led the Templars to our door."

She stared for a moment, stunned and speechless. "And Malik?" she asked, managing to control the worried quaver in her voice.

"It was he who retrieved the treasure for us," Al-Mualim replied. "He returned badly wounded."

Her heart stuttered in her chest at those words. If Malik had been badly wounded…

"Kadar?" she asked quietly.

"He is dead," Al-Mualim said, his grief was obvious.

"Does Malik know this?" she asked, her voice quaking slightly. Such a cruel blow this would be for him!

"Yes, child, he knows. He was forced to return without him."

The room spun around her. "May I see him?" she asked, her voice strangely steady.

"He's with the physician," Al-Mualim told her.

Walking to the physician's quarters was a blur in her memory. She knocked on the heavy door and only entered when she heard his gruff voice.

 _He'll be alright. He will be. I'll open this door and he'll be sitting on the bed complaining about his sutures and arguing with the physician about how long he should rest…_

She pushed open the door and stepped in. The room was dim and the physician sat with his back to her.

"Close the door," he said softly.

She eased it shut and turned back just as the physician rose from his chair.

"Oh," the word was a breathy moan of horror and pain.

Malik lay unconscious on the bed, his face ashen and covered with fever sweat, his hand clenching and unclenching in pain, his breathing ragged.

"Malik," she whispered as tears filled her eyes. She approached the bedside and touched his cheek, finding his skin hot to the touch. "How did this happen?"

"I do not know," the physician said without turning to face her, assuming the question was meant for him. "He was not able to tell me. By the time he came to me, he had lost so much blood that it wasn't long before he lost consciousness." He turned to the bed with a bowl in his hand and finished grinding up the herbs for a salve. "You may not wish to see this."

She met the physician's gaze and saw the concern in his eyes. "I'm not leaving," she said firmly.

"Very well," he said and pulled the blanket back off of Malik's chest, revealing his sweat-soaked shirt.

Aliyah covered her mouth to stifle her gasp when she saw what remained of Malik's left arm. From his fingers to half-way up his upper arm was gone. The physician unwrapped the bandage, revealing the angry, red flesh swelling around the sutures and began applying the salve to soothe the wound and stop the infection.

"Does he know?" she asked softly, kneeling by the bed.

 _First, Kadar. Now, his arm._

"He knows," the physician said ruefully. "It's part of the reason he lost consciousness."

Aliyah laid her hand on Malik's right forearm while the physician applied the salve, not sure if it was for his benefit or hers. When the physician straightened, she noticed the exhaustion in his old eyes.

"Get some rest, master," she urged him. "I'll stay with him."

He nodded. "Thank you, I shall do that."

Later, when the physician awoke and went to tend the other wounded Assassins, she stayed and bathed Malik's face and neck with cool water to soothe his fever, spooned water between his lips and talked to him softly until grief choked off her voice and tears streamed down her cheeks. She laid her head against his chest, listening for his heartbeat, only able to think that, when he awoke, he would have to relive the horror afresh. She pressed a tender kiss to his forehead and stroked his hair back from his face.

"You deserved so much better than this," she whispered. "I wish I had been there. I might could have done something."

"He and Altair are among the very best in the Brotherhood," the physician said from behind her. "What could you have possibly done that they could not?"

"It could have been my life instead of Kadar's," she said.

The physician grunted. "The Master wishes to see you."

"Very well," she said and forced herself to leave the room.

"Aliyah, come," Al-Mualim called to her when she entered the library.

"You wished to see me?" she said.

"I have an assignment for you," he said, handing her a scroll. "I need you to go to Jerusalem and walk among the people. Find out what they know of us, if anything. I have received reports of Assassins being discovered far too easily and I worry that Saamir's treason may have expanded beyond Acre."

"I will leave at once," she said. As she strode through the fortress, a chill settled over her. Yes, she would leave immediately. She had business in Jerusalem.

When she arrived, she did not enter the city immediately. She found the entrance to the tunnels leading to Solomon's Temple by the time the sun was setting and found her way to the Temple itself without any difficulty. Two Templar guards stood in the doorway and she plunged her hidden blade through the back of one and kicked the other off the ledge. His scream ended abruptly on the stone floor and brought other guards rushing into the room. She threw the other man down on top of his comrades and leaped to the ledge beneath her, hurling throwing knives at the guards. Some died, others collapsed with crippling wounds. She jumped to the floor and strode among the ones still alive, ending their lives as she came to them. Some tried to fight but their struggles were brief. When no one moved, she slid into the shadows and waited.

A few minutes later, several more Templar guards entered the room looking for their comrades. At the sight of the bloody bodies, they drew their weapons and scanned the room, searching for the threat. Aliyah stepped from the darkness and ran her sword through the man closest to her. As the rest of them attacked, she dodged and spun around them like Malik had taught her to do five years ago. Each man felt the bite of her blades as she slashed their throats and ran them through until only one was left. Her hidden blade had gone through his side while her short blade had caught him behind his knees.

"No, please! Please, don't kill me!" he cried as she approached him.

"The Assassin you killed did not beg," she hissed at him.

She stood over him with her wrist blade out and dripping blood. "Please, I have a family!" he begged tearfully.

"So did he," she said and wasn't only speaking of Kadar. She plunged her blade through his throat, then faded away again, waiting for more Templars. She spent the entire night in Solomon's Temple and when the sun rose the following morning and she made her way out of the tunnels, she left behind thirty Templar bodies and a stone floor bathed in blood to mark the site where Kadar had died and Malik had lost everything he held dear.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Here we are. More familiar territory. Again, any deviations were done deliberately and with the utmost respect. This chapter consists of what might have taken place before Altair's 'execution'. Al-Mualim did say that Malik had demanded his death, after all.

Shoutout to **Foxface**! Thank you soooo much for the reviews! I hope the next few chapters lay your concerns to rest.

Shoutout to **MessyInk**! Thank you for the tips! I have updated the material will update the chapters with the changes soon. I promise. So, everybody, if it looks like I'm uploading a lot over the next little bit, it's just chapter updates, making necessary edits so maybe things will read a little more smoothly. Sorry, I know I'm behind and I wish it was fresh chapters :( I will soon, though. I promise.

A/N: Okay, one major edit was the addition of years. Not every chapter has the year attached. Only the ones that involve a year change or if there's a scenario change from chapter to chapter that takes place in the same time-frame. Just thought I'd let everyone know what's going on :)

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y.r. 1190 A.D.

Malik sat on the edge of his bed and tried to catch his breath. The walk from the physician's quarters to his room had sapped his energy. He groaned and started to massage the throbbing out of his left arm, only to grasp the air. Bitter pain pierced him afresh and he massaged his shoulder instead.

 _At least, I still have that much._

He sat there in silence, sunk deep in his grief, his mind replaying those horrible moments over and over again. He lifted the hem of his robe and examined it critically. He no longer wore the attire of an Assassin because it was too difficult to remove. His gaze fell on the chest at the foot of his bed and he stood slowly, suddenly feeling old. As he lifted the heavy lid, the smell of cedar wrapped around him and the memories comforted him briefly. However, when he lifted out his robes and weapons, pain knifed through his chest and tears slipped down his cheeks.

 _Al-Mualim raised me to a Dai. An honor. An inadequate compensation for the loss of my brother. A position for old men. For cripples._

A soft knock on his door pulled him from his thoughts.

"Yes?" he called, wiping his eyes.

The door opened and the nervous face of a novice no older than fourteen peeked in. "Forgive me, Dai," he said. "The Master wishes to see you."

"I am on my way," Malik replied, and placed the items back in the chest.

Al-Mualim was waiting for him in the library along with many of the Order. The hum of low voices ceased when he entered.

"Ah, Malik, thank you for joining us," Al-Mualim greeted him, his tone solemn.

"I am at your service, Master," Malik said.

"Altair's fate will be decided this day," Al-Mualim said. "I wanted to hear your voice in the matter."

"What is there to decide?" Malik demanded angrily. "He broke every tenet of the Creed. The man betrayed us! So many of us perished because of his arrogance! The entire incident could have been avoided if he had only followed your instructions in Solomon's Temple. My brother is dead because he wished to satisfy his pride. For that alone, I would kill him myself!"

"You seek vengeance against the man responsible for Kadar's death?" the Master said quietly. "You seek a life for a life?"

"Yes," Malik said firmly.

"Am I not responsible, Malik?"

Malik took a half-step back in shock. "What?"

"Was it not I who permitted Kadar to accompany you to Solomon's Temple? Instructed him to go? I knew he lacked the skill for the task," Al-Mualim looked Malik in the eye, his face drawn with grief. "Am I not responsible for his death?"

"No," Malik answered. "It was not you who alerted the enemy to our presence when we might have passed them by unnoticed. It was not you who challenged them openly, forcing us from cover and inciting the engagement that killed Kadar. You did not break the Creed."

Al-Mualim nodded slowly and began to pace slowly in front of his desk. "He exposed all of you, forcing you into combat unnecessarily and vulnerably. He brought the enemy to our doorstep, compromising the Brotherhood, it is true. What of our first tenet? When was that broken, Malik?"

"In the tunnels, before we reached the Temple, we came upon an old man," Malik answered. "I do not know who he was. Perhaps their guide, perhaps a simple man looking for valuables to sell in the souks. He did not even cry out when he saw us. Yet, Altair took his life. Even as I tried to stop him."

 _And Kadar praised him for the action…_

Al-Mualim looked away, staring into the gloom of the corner, lost in thought. "These are serious charges, indeed. They cannot go unpunished. But do you truly wish him dead, Malik?"

Malik looked him in the eye and his grief, anger and hatred poured into his words. "He killed my brother, Master. Yes, I wish him dead."

Al-Mualim faced the window. "You may go, Malik. Rest yourself. I need you in Jerusalem before the month ends."

Malik nodded respectfully even as his stomach knotted with pain.

 _Jerusalem? Of all the cities, why would you send me to Jerusalem, Master?_

Of course, he knew the answer. The Dai in Jerusalem was an old, sick man and it would be best if he still lived when he was replaced so that the Assassins there would not be without a leader. However, as Malik left the library, he could not deny the unease he felt and by the time he reached his room, he barely made it to his bed before he collapsed from the nausea.

Every day he would sleep and wake in the city that sprawled over his brother's grave.

Once Malik left the room, Al-Mualim turned to two of the Assassins in the group.

"Find Altair," he instructed. "Bring him to the front gate. Bring him broken, if you must, but bring him alive."

As they went, he dismissed the others, then turned to his desk and selected a curved dagger. The sunlight gleamed off the keen edge as he picked it up. Malik wanted vengeance, but death should be respected, even if the man to die was not.

He went outside to wait and soon, the Assassins escorted Altair up the path. Only when they stood before Al-Mualim and the men seized his arms did he begin to struggle.

"Release me!" he ordered hotly.

"Be still, boy!" Al-Mualim commanded. "You will only make this worse for yourself."

"What is this?" Altair demanded.

"Malik has told me what happened in Solomon's Temple, the event that lead to Kadar's death and the deaths of many others," Al-Mualim said.

"I accomplished my task," Altair retorted. "The method is irrelevant."

"It is not your place to decide what is relevant! You have forgotten your place in the Brotherhood," Al-Mualim told him. "You have also forgotten the tenets of our Creed. I will remind you. The first tenet: Stay your blade—"

"From the flesh of the innocent," Altair finished insolently. "I know."

Al-Mualim backhanded him, splitting his lip. "And stay your tongue until I give you leave to use it! If you knew this, why did you kill the old man! He was an innocent!"

Altair stared at the ground and made no answer.

"The second tenet: Hide in plain sight. Did you remember that one, as well?" Al-Mualim's tone was almost mocking. "Because, as I have heard, you chose to expose yourself, endangering your life as well as the lives of those with you!"

Altair maintained his silence, but Al-Mualim saw the insolent line of his mouth and the unrepentant clench of his jaw.

"The third, most important tenet: Never compromise the Brotherhood. Your actions in the Temple, your arrogance brought the enemy to our doorstep, to our very home! Every life lost here, was lost because of you."

Al-Mualim drew the dagger from his robe and Altair's eyes widened in alarm.

"I am sorry, but I cannot abide a traitor," Al-Mualim said sadly.

"I am not a traitor!" Altair insisted vehemently.

"Your actions prove otherwise," Al-Mualim told him regretfully. "This gives me no pleasure."

He stepped forward and drove the blade between Altair's ribs. The Assassin cried out briefly, then sagged in the grip of the men who restrained him.

* * *

Sunlight danced across his eyelids. Altair awoke with a groan and raised his stiff arm to ward off the light. As he sat up on the bed, his hand went to his side.

 _How am I alive?_

He looked around the room and was surprised to find it empty. He moved slowly, braced for an attack, and stood, expecting pain from his wound. He felt nothing. When he looked for his clothing, he found the robes of a novice folded on a chair but no weapons. For the first time in years, he felt confused…and afraid.

He hesitated before he left the room, unsure of what he would find beyond the door. Then, he stepped into the hall and went in search of answers. When he entered the library, he was surprised to find Al-Mualim waiting for him.

"I don't understand," he said in a bewildered voice. "I remember the knife. I felt death's embrace!"

"You saw what I wanted you to see," the Master told him. "Malik demanded your life as punishment for the loss of his brother. Though you deserved death, your talents are too valuable. I want to see if you can be redeemed. If not, he may get his wish. Prove you loyalty to the Brotherhood."

"You would have me take a life?"

"No, not yet. You have not earned that honor," AL-Mualim told him. "You will redeem yourself by starting from the beginning. You have become a novice once again."

"This is nonsense!" Altair argued.

"That is not for you to decide, boy," Al-Mualim replied. "When the Templars attacked, we were betrayed. Someone opened the gates for them. In the village, there are whispers. Find who was responsible for this and bring them to me for justice."

"Yes, Master," Altair replied, his voice more sullen than reverent.

As he made his way to the gate, he met Malik coming in. The former Assassin looked at him with an expression of pure loathing and Altair was shocked to see the empty, left sleeve of his robe.

"I knew this day would come," Malik said bitterly. "I knew what would happen. I knew that lives would be lost as a result of your arrogance. I should have killed you myself that day."

"Al-Mualim said you advocated for my death," Altair remarked coolly.

"I did," Malik replied shortly. "Why the old man spared you is beyond my understanding," he growled and strode away down one of the halls.

Altair watched him leave. He knew the moment Malik was referring to. The day they had been hunting Templars. The day they struggled on the roof and Malik forced him to his knees. Malik _could_ have killed him then.

He shook his head impatiently to clear those thoughts and left the fortress, striding down the path toward the village with long, proud steps.

 _I will find the traitor and be done with this 'novice' nonsense._


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: Hihi! Long time no see everybody! Sorry about the loooong delay but here at last is chapter 18! Oh, Malik broke my heart the whole time. Oh, and something I've been meaning to bring up for a while. This story carries over to the other AC games that have Altair involvement, it's not just AC 1. I'm also gonna do one with Ezio :) Shay and Desmond (I love Desmond btw and Shay was freaking hot justsayin)

Enjoy!

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Aliyah sprinted across the rooftops in pursuit of a Templar informant who was running down the street, screaming hysterically for help, toppling baskets and crates. Ibrahim chased after him, undeterred by the obstacles thrown into his path. Even as the man continued his frantic escape, Aliyah realized that he wasn't panicking, yet. He was heading toward the souk, toward the crowd of people where he could vanish instead of veering down the side streets and trying to lose Ibrahim in the twisting alleys. However, when she looked up, she also realized that he wasn't just planning on hiding in the souk. Three archers stood on the roofs, aiming down at the street, waiting for the opportunity to kill Ibrahim.

She drove herself harder and pulled ahead of the informant. He wasn't panicking yet, but finding out that his plan of escape had fallen apart might force him to make a fatal mistake. She gathered herself and leaped across the street, rolled to her feet on the next rooftop and hurled three knives at the archers. The men toppled to the ground below and people screamed in horror. She stepped to the edge and looked down, searching for their target. He was standing still, staring at the bodies of the men who were supposed to protect him. Then, he looked around frantically and darted down a side street, covering his mouth as though he was about to be ill.

 _Now he knows that Ibrahim is not his only pursuer._

If the man had stood still for a moment longer, Ibrahim would have caught up to him. As the Assassin veered down the alley after him, he cast a scowl up at the roof where he knew Aliyah was and forced himself to check his irritation. Undoubtedly, she had saved his life. He chased the man until the street ended at a well surrounded by dilapidated buildings that stood right against the city wall. The informant spun around in terror, searching the buildings for a way to escape.

"Don't," Ibrahim warned him. "That would not be wise."

The man's hand went to the satchel he wore as he watched the Assassin approach. Suddenly, he snatched the satchel off his shoulder and held it out over the well.

"I'll drop it!" he threatened in a shrill voice.

Ibrahim's hood concealed the alarm in his eyes. While the man was the last of Saamir's spies, acquiring the satchel was their actual assignment.

He shrugged. "What makes you think I want the satchel?" he asked coldly.

The man stared at him, trying to determine if he was bluffing. Then, he smirked and let go of the satchel.

Just as it started to fall, a dagger flashed through the air, knocking the satchel away from the well and another buried itself in his leg. He collapsed, screaming in pain, clutching his bloody leg.

Aliyah dropped to the ground beside Ibrahim and strode toward the man while Ibrahim retrieved the satchel.

"You truly thought we wanted the satchel?" she asked dryly as Ibrahim rummaged through it. "Why would we exert so much effort for a satchel when you are the last of Saamir Rahimi's spies?"

The man raised up on one arm and spit on her boots. "He will not be the last to turn from you and join us. Others will see reason! One day, we will purge the world of your kind, Assassin!"

Ibrahim stepped up behind him and plunged a dagger through his heart. "You won't have a part in that, I assure you."

"Is everything there?" Aliyah asked anxiously.

Ibrahim nodded. "Lists of Assassin's names, our numbers and strengths, maps of the fortress and village, as well as the names of everyone outside the Brotherhood who has given us aid."

Aliyah immediately thought of Hashima and the danger she might have been in if the spy had given the Templars the satchel.

"This is the last one," he continued, lifting the satchel up in triumph. "These documents bear Saamir's signature. The only reason they would have to risk losing these would be if there were no others."

"And he was the last of Saamir's, spies as well," Aliyah pointed out in relief. "He admitted as much."

Ibrahim looked at her curiously. "I believe you heard something I did not."

She nodded at the dead man. "When I said he was the last, he did not gloat as he would have if I had been wrong. He only warned of our impending demise. A threat we hardly needed to hear again."

Ibrahim shrugged, satisfied with her answer and handed her the satchel. "Return these to Masyaf, the Master has sent me to Jerusalem to serve under the Dai."

Malik. She had not been able to speak to him before he left for Jerusalem and whenever she had seen him, it had been from a distance. With each assignment, she hoped to be sent to the city. She wanted so badly to see him.

"Safety and peace, Ibrahim," she said in farewell.

"Safety and peace, Sister," he replied and walked away.

When she dropped into the Bureau to give her report, the Rafiq met her in the outer room with a worried look on his face.

"What has happened, Rafiq?" she asked.

"The guards are looking for you and Ibrahim," he told her, his eyes falling meaningfully to the satchel. "They are waiting for you to try and leave Acre and they plan to kill you at the gate.

"Ibrahim has already gone," she said. "Where is everyone else?"

"They are out watching and listening," he replied. "They are not known, not like you. Be careful when you leave."

She nodded and climbed up to the roof.

 _How could they have learned of our interference so quickly?_

She thought back to those moments, trying to remember if she had seen anything, even a shadow out of place when she and Ibrahim caught the spy but there was nothing. She shook her head in frustration and leaped to the next roof, making her way to the nearest gate. When she arrived, she quickly ducked behind a rooftop garden. The guards were searching everyone leaving the city, all carts and the individuals themselves. She huffed in irritation. She couldn't escape by simply covering her robes and she couldn't scale the walls. She retraced her steps until she was out of sight then she dropped to the street. Donning a dull brown robe over her clothes, she stepped out into the crowds of people and made her way toward the Cathedral.

Keeping her head lowered, she searched the area for Ahmadi however, as more time passed with no sign of him, she became worried. Suddenly, she caught a glimpse of a white robe flitting down an alley and she immediately followed.

"Safety and peace, Ahmadi," she said, the sight of him was immensely comforting.

"Safety and peace, Aliyah," he greeted her quietly.

"Today you die, Assassin!" a harsh voice growled behind her.

Before she could turn, Ahmadi lunged forward with his dagger and she felt the dull bite of steel in her side. As he hurled her to the ground, the Templar knight charged and Ahmadi leaped back to dodge his sword. The buildings were so close, he had nowhere to go and the Templar laughed at his desperate expression. His laugh ended in a choked gasp as Aliyah plunged her short blade into his back then slit his throat with her dagger. As he fell face down in the street filth, Aliyah pressed her hand to her left side and turned her attention on Ahmadi, her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Forgive me, Sister," he said, holding his hands out in surrender. "He might have killed us both. I could think of no other way."

She nodded, unhappy but understanding. The street was too narrow for a prolonged fight and no doubt he had thought that Ahmadi was the Assassin he wanted after seeing her fall.

"Did I harm you?" he asked.

She pulled her hand away and showed him the blood. "A shallow cut, no more."

He winced. "What can I do for you?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "I must return to Masyaf with Saamir's satchel," she opened her robe to show him the satchel. "Is there a gate that is less guarded?"

He shook his head before she finished the question. "No, there are guards searching everywhere for you and Ibrahim. Luckily, he left before they were completely mobilized. Wait until sundown. You should be able to leave by then."

"Thank you, Ahmadi," she said.

He nodded, his eyes troubled.

She gave him a reassuring nod and he walked away. As she made her way back to the Poor District, she took care to avoid the open streets and when she reached the gate, she sat down to wait. As the hours passed, she saw the guards began to shift restlessly and their searches became less thorough.

 _No doubt they believe that nothing will happen, or that nothing did happen._

She straightened up as an idea came to her. As the sun began to set, the traffic at the gate began to lessen and when there were only a few people milling about, she dropped her ragged robe and stepped out into the guard's line of sight. When they all turned toward her, she held the satchel out temptingly, then ran. As she had expected, they immediately gave chase and she led them deep into the heart of the Poor District. When the street opened into a small square surrounded by collapsing homes, she paused and made eye contact with a group of rough men standing in the shade of one of the buildings. Then, she looked pointedly up the street from where she had come and vanished around the corner just as the soldiers ran into the square. As she climbed the wall, the men attacked the guards and as she reached the roof, she could tell the guards were not faring well. She ran back to the gate, leaving the sounds of the savage fight behind her. One guard remained and just as she reached for a knife, she spied Ahmadi creeping toward the man. Crouching behind a stack of crates, he nodded at her and stepped out right in front of the guard.

"Assassin! Halt!"

Ahmadi sprinted down the street and even though the guard did not chase him down, the few steps he took allowed her to slip through the gate.

When she mounted her mare, the wound in her side twisted open again and she winced. She had told Ahmadi that it was of no concern but that hadn't been entirely true. She would most certainly need sutures and if she took too long returning to Masyaf, she would have to do it herself.

She arrived in Masyaf without incident and presented the satchel to Al-Mualim.

"Well done," he said warmly. "Perhaps we will at last be free of Saamir's treachery."

"Perhaps," she agreed, her voice hopeful and tired.

"I have an assignment for you," he told her.

A weary sigh almost escaped her.

"I am sending you to Jerusalem to assist the Dai," he continued.

 _Malik!_

Her weariness all but vanished. She had worried terribly about him and for weeks she had hoped Al-Mualim would send her to Jerusalem.

"With what shall I be assisting him?" she asked, her tone carefully neutral.

"Anything he deems necessary," Al-Mualim replied.

Her heart began to race with excitement. "So, my place there will not be temporary, then?" her voice gave away nothing.

"No, you will remain there until duty calls you elsewhere," he answered.

She nodded. "I will leave at dawn, unless there is an urgent matter that dictates I leave sooner?"

A proud light came into his eyes. "No, rest yourself tonight."

"Thank you, Master," she said gratefully and strode out of the library. She met Abbas in the hall and the look on his face when he saw her would have made her quail from his presence in the past. Now, she met his hostile gaze and walked past him without a pause in her stride. She made her way out of the fortress and walked the road to Hashima's home. The old woman answered the door on the second knock and practically pulled her inside with her embrace.

"Come, child, sit with me a while," she said and prodded Aliyah toward the cushions. "I have not seen you in months."

"I know," Aliyah said, ducking her head in apology.

"You look well, child," Hashima commented warmly, noticing the healthy flush in Aliyah's face and the lean lines of her body. "Are you eating enough?"

"I am," Aliyah replied with a smile. "I promise," she insisted when Hashima frowned at her in disbelief.

"What has happened to you?" Hashima demanded in motherly concern.

Aliyah blinked at her and the old woman instantly prodded her wound. Aliyah winced as pain lanced through her body. She had sutured the wound on her way to Masyaf and in her weariness and excitement about seeing Malik again, she hadn't realized she was favoring that side.

"Oh, this will not do!" Hashima exclaimed when she saw the wound. She promptly cut the sutures and began to doctor the cut. "I hope you did not intend to hide this from me."

"No, no! Of course not," Aliyah quickly assured her. "I had forgotten about it."

"Oh, indeed?" Hashima said in disapproval. "I've always been pleased with the way you conduct yourself, even when Malik brought you to me and you were near death. You've never complained about your care and what it entails. Now, that one boy that you trained with, he is a sight to be sure, wailing and cursing—"

"Who?"

"Abdul Ibn Bakir," Hashima replied, tying off the sutures. "The physician tells me these things and one day, he came to me with a gash down his arm, wanting sutures. He cursed the pain and left without a word of thanks."

Aliyah nodded knowingly.

"Of course, I could have given him something for the pain but he shouldn't have needed it," Hashima continued. "His wound was barely more than that," she gestured to Aliyah's side. "Even if he had needed it, I would have been hard put to give it to him."

Aliyah looked at her in shock.

Hashima met her eyes with a look of cold anger that made Aliyah relieved that the old woman did not wield a blade. "I watched all of you race for the flag that day. I saw him throw you from the cliff. You should have left him where he fell, child. He didn't deserve to be saved."

"I heard those words often myself, Hashima," Aliyah told her softly. "We are supposed to be allies, he and I, not enemies."

"He made his choice, child."

"And I have made mine," Aliyah replied. "But do not think I will not kill him should he attack me again. Until then, I will not raise my blade against him."

"Hmph," Hashima grunted indignantly. "Very well, then. I hope you will sup with me this evening."

"I would love to," Aliyah said, happy to move on to a more pleasant topic. "Let me help you prepare the meal." She stood and went into the kitchen, not giving Hashima a chance to argue.

The meal was a simple stew and the women spoke of pleasant things, laughing at each other's stories until Hashima spoke of Malik.

"Have you seen him, child?"

Aliyah's heart fluttered at the mention of his name. "No, I have not," she said regretfully. "The Master is sending me to Jerusalem to assist him, however. I leave in the morning."

Hashima's eyes were full of grief. "He is different now, child. The loss of his arm, the loss of Kadar…it has changed him. He is angry. Bitter."

Aliyah nodded. She expected nothing less.

"I know it makes no difference to you," Hashima went on. "I only say it to caution you against hope."

Aliyah looked at her in surprise. "What do you mean?"

A nostalgic smile creased the old woman's lined face. "Do you think I do not see it, child? The way your eyes shine when you hear his name? The flush in your cheeks?"

Aliyah felt her face warm at Hashima's words and she looked down to hide her embarrassment.

"I am happy, child," Hashima told her. "He is a good man, even now. But be careful for yourself. In his grief, he may wound without intending to, even though he would rather cut out his own tongue than cause you harm."

"I never intend for him to learn of my feelings, Hashima," Aliyah told her quietly. "Nothing would come of it. He deserves so much… _more_ than me. And how am I to speak of it when I know that future is not for me?"

"Child, you do not know what the future holds," Hashima told her.

Aliyah shook her head. "No. I am content with this."

"But you are not happy."

"I am happy enough," Aliyah replied slowly. "For me, this…this is enough."

When she stood to leave, Hashima cupped her face in her aged hands and kissed her forehead. "I will pray for your safety," she promised. "And for your happiness."

Four days later, when she rode the gates of Jerusalem a chill settled over her as she recalled her last visit to the city.

 _We could not even bury Kadar._

She made her way to the Bureau and dropped through the lattice roof, then hesitated, suddenly nervous. Straightening, she walked inside, knowing she had nothing to fear. She stopped when she saw Malik. He was leaning over the table, measuring the distances on a map he was creating. The look of concentration on his face almost made her believe that they were in a day long past, then she saw the tightness of his mouth and grief crashed over her.

Suddenly, he glanced up and saw her and his expression softened a little. Even still, she saw the anger that Hashima had spoken of, the bitterness.

"I did not expect you so soon," he said.

"I saw no point in lingering," she replied, longing to hear the warmth his voice always carried.

 _After everything he has suffered, I may never hear that again._

He turned back to his map. "I tried to persuade Al-Mualim that you were not needed here, but he insisted."

His words cut her deeply and she fought to hide her shock. "If you feel I am of no use to you, I will add my voice to your argument. Surely, he cannot disregard both of us," her voice was as indifferent as she could make it.

 _He does not want me here_.

"No, I am certain I can find a use for you," he stated. "I just worry that your talents will be wasted here."

She nearly sighed with relief. "What would you have me do?"

"Do you still remember your way around the city?" he asked dryly.

"I do," she answered. All the novices had been assigned to assist one of the Assassins on various missions and she had found herself in Jerusalem more often than the other cities.

"Walk through it," he said. "Watch and listen. Report what you learn when you return this evening."

"Very well," she replied and turned to leave. He spoke to her as though she was a novice that he threw rocks at. Her heart grieved for him and she searched her mind for a way to remind him of who she was, of who he was.

"May I ask you something, Malik?" she asked, turning back to him.

He looked up as though surprised to hear his name. "Of course," he said, and his voice was almost kind.

"The day I requested to join the novices, when the others argued so fiercely against me, what did you say to Al-Mualim?"

He looked away. "Something I was ashamed to say then and am ashamed to recall now," he said quietly.

"What was it?" she pressed gently.

"I told him that you were steel ready to be forged," he answered. "That we could shape you into anything the Brotherhood needed. That the Brotherhood could not possibly be shamed by your request, nor would it suffer even if…even if you failed."

She stared at him for a moment, stunned. "There was certainly truth in your words," she told him. "And, undoubtedly, truth in them still."

He looked at her sadly. "I sold you, Aliyah," he said in a pained voice. "That is what I did, that day."

She smiled gently. "You did not sell me, Malik. You set me free."

With that, she left the Bureau, climbed to the roof and dropped to the street where she vanished into the crowds.

* * *

As Aliyah turned away, Malik drew the breath to call her back inside but she was too quick and could only watch as her shadow slid away.

"I am glad to see you, Aliyah," he said quietly to the air.

For just a moment, a sense of normality had returned to him. Her eagerness, her eyes alight with life, he could have almost persuaded himself that nothing had changed, that Kadar would appear in the doorway anxious to complete an assignment, that he could still run the rooftops.

He reached for his inkwell and felt a painful pulse in his left shoulder. With a hissed oath, he reached across with his right hand and snatched it up angrily. He started to write some notes for his map, but paused. He glanced up at the door, hoping to see her returning. He did not want to send her out on assignments, he wanted her to remain in the Bureau where she would be safe.

"I cannot lose you as well, Aliyah," he whispered painfully.

Whether she lived or died depended on him, while at the same time, there was absolutely nothing he could do for her.

 _Just like in Solomon's Temple. I am solely responsible and wholly incapable._

The irony left a bitter taste in his mouth and he massaged his shoulder. Then, he realized that she had not even looked at what was left of his arm, nor had there been any pity in her voice during their brief conversation.

 _No pity, only…_

He looked toward the doorway, suddenly comforted.

 _She was glad to see me._


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: Hihi everybody! Omg it's another chapter in less than a week! LOL it's a short one this time but it's setting the stage for future events. I'm not going to cover all of Altair's assignments because this story isn't about him (get over it, Altair. Love you, but get over it). I'm soooo EXCITED guys! 30 followers and 23 favorites! Thank you so much for that everyone! I hope you'll stick with me through my future fics. I love what I do but finding out that so many others enjoy it as well puts an extra spring in my step for the whole day :)

Shoutout to Messy Ink! I love your reviews! I know I've said this before, but I'll say it again. You're such an encouraging person. Everybody, if Messy Ink reviews your fics and makes a suggestion or two, be sure to take them! The big improvements you've seen in this fic are because of Messy Ink.

Enjoy!

* * *

Jerusalem was a beautiful city and the war had done nothing to change that. However, as Aliyah walked the streets, watching and listening, she became aware of an undercurrent of fear coursing through the people, especially in the Poor District. The young women moved nervously from crowd to crowd and even the men glanced anxiously over their shoulders.

As she continued her walk down the side streets, she became aware of the silence that filled the corners and open windows of the homes. When she came to a brothel, she found the doors open and the interior dark and empty. While she was glad for the sight, something about it unsettled her. She glanced around subtly and realized that the only people on the street were either the very young or the very old.

 _Where has everyone gone?_

She made her way to the souk and melted into the crowd. Over the yelling of the merchants, the haggling of the customers and the din of general conversations, conversations of a disturbing nature began to emerge. Talk of people vanishing, some from the streets, some from their beds.

"The brothel has emptied," one man complained to his friend. "When just last week its doors were open all day and night."

"Not only that one," his friend replied. "Three others in the Poor District and two in the Middle District. Not the best ones, mind you, just the ones that were hidden away in the alleys."

She scoffed in disgust to hear them discuss a brothel as though it was a butcher's shop and walked past them before she forgot herself and did something rash. She came across a group of women talking about the disappearance of many of the sick in the Poor District.

"I'd made a whole pot of soup for the beggars and today there are none to be found," one woman said. "It will all go to waste!"

"I usually leave some loaves of bread by the wall for the lepers," another woman said. "I went back yesterday and they hadn't been touched."

Aliyah walked on, hearing more conversations of similar natures and slowly, she began to hear a name repeated, sometimes with fear, sometimes with awe, always quietly.

 _Talal._

She found a quiet place to sit and watch the crowds and the longer she lingered, the more often she heard his name spoken. She glanced up as the sun shone into her eyes and she realized that evening would fall soon.

 _I need to talk to Malik._

She left her bench and slipped into a darkened side street where she could climb to the roof. From there, she made her way back to the Bureau and dropped to the floor before the sun had set completely. The low hum of voices ceased when her boots hit the stone and when she entered the main room, cool, wary looks greeted her.

"Safety and peace," she said, dropping her hood.

The men's faces lightened instantly and they returned her greeting warmly.

"We did not know you were in the city, sister," one of them told her. "We are all a little nervous when we hear an extra set of footsteps these days."

"Saamir's betrayal affected us all deeply," Malik said, coming into the room. He held Aliyah's gaze for a brief, meaningful moment before spreading out an older map that was cracking at the edges.

Aliyah felt a sense of relief remembering the day she had sought solitude in the grotto after killing Saamir and found Malik instead, remembering how he had helped her understand the conflict she had felt. Malik obviously remembered that day, as well.

"What did you learn?" Malik asked her, weighting down the corners of the old map.

She stepped forward. "People are vanishing in the city, especially in the Poor District," she told him.

He glanced up at her with raised brows and a look of patient indifference in his eyes.

"I know that such disappearances are as common as they are unfortunate," she continued before she could be interrupted. "But this is different. Too many have vanished too quickly."

"I have not noticed anything of the kind," one of the Assassins said in a confused tone.

"No one of significance has disappeared," she replied. "Only the ones who are sick, the beggars, even the…even the brothels are empty."

Malik propped on the table, a troubled look on his face. "That is a significant number of people," he said. "Is the Poor District the only one affected?"

"No, the Middle District is as well, though not as severely," she answered. "Something else…in the souk, I kept hearing the name Talal."

Malik's expression changed to one surprise and he caught himself before he asked if she was sure of the name. She would not have spoken of it, otherwise.

"I was unaware that he had returned to Jerusalem," he said slowly and cast a disapproving frown over his informants.

"We were ignorant of this as well, Dai," one of them said with quiet embarrassment.

"Find Talal, become his shadows. I want to know if these events are independent occurrences or if he is responsible somehow," Malik told them.

"Yes, Dai," they said and left the Bureau.

"They respond well to you," Aliyah remarked warmly and turned to follow them.

"Aliyah," Malik called her and she turned back, a curious look on her face. "I _am_ glad that you are here," he told her, hoping she would accept the words as an apology for his terseness earlier.

"So am I," she replied and for him, the soft smile that curved her lips was like a ray of dawn after an impossibly long, dark night.

As she walked away, he listened to her climb the wall to the roof and strained to hear her footsteps as they faded into the twilight.

 _They respond well to you_

He shook his head bitterly.

 _If only Kadar had..._


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Aahh, here we go. A nice, long chapter. Lots happening here, ladies and gentlemen. It's another familiar scene from the game and again, I'm not following Altair's assignments completely and any changes were done deliberately and with the utmost respect. Believe me, you'll notice them. Did some stage setting throughout and hopefully there won't be too long of a delay in the follow-ups.

Shoutout to **Messy Ink**! Thank you for reviewing! I'm so glad you've stuck with me for this long and that you're still enjoying the story :)

Shoutout to a new(?) reviewer! There wasn't a name on your review but thank you so much for taking the time to comment and I hope you stick with me and continue to enjoy :)

* * *

Two weeks later…

The morning dawned cool and crisp and Aliyah sat up with a content sigh. The others were still snoring in their bedrolls and she moved quietly to avoid disturbing them. When she had first arrived, she had been a little disturbed at the prospect of sleeping in the same room with the men, but when she laid her bedroll out under the window, they moved theirs to other side of the room without a word or look of resentment.

She still maintained her habit as a novice of sleeping fully clothed, so she slipped on her outer robe, tied her sash around her waist, re-braided her hair and propped on the window sill to watch the sun rise. Even though she could not see the sun itself, she loved watching the sky lighten with so many colors before finally becoming fully blue.

 _And Malik is just in the other room._

He would never know how her heart fluttered in her chest with just that thought, never know how difficult it was for her to speak to him so casually, pretending that his voice didn't fill her blood with a blushing warmth. He would never know how badly she wanted to be more for him.

 _This is enough. It will never be more, never be possible for it to be more. So this…this is enough._

Ibrahim had rejoined their number the day before and for that, she was glad. As much as she respected the other men, she was most familiar with Ibrahim and more comfortable working with him. Often in the past, their joint tasks had become competitions of speed and stealth, many of which, Ibrahim would win. In matters of stealth, the fact that she was a woman worked against her at times because, as a woman, she was expected to behave a certain way in public. Unfortunately, what risked exposing her most often was her inability to linger for gossip in the souks.

She smiled to herself. _Yes, Ibrahim has the advantage in that._

For this reason, she was unaware of the fact that he had awoken and lay propped on his elbow, watching her at the window.

Aliyah turned when the men began to stir. Ibrahim sat up, rubbing his shoulder and the small of his back and various groans and complaints came from the others.

"I don't want to hear a word from any of you," one of the other Assassins said, walking into the room, followed by three others. "Spend all night perched on a wall, then complain about discomfort."

"Where is Talal now?" Aliyah asked.

"Yes, that is what I want to know," Malik said from the doorway, his expression grim.

"We waited for him to leave this morning, Dai, but we never saw him," one of them reported, his tone slightly anxious.

"What do you mean, you never saw him, Yusuf?" Malik asked.

"We know that he did, we heard his men speaking of it outside, but we never saw Talal himself."

Malik pointed to the three men who had just arrived. "You three, stay. The rest of you, find Talal. The Master demands his life."

The men left the Bureau immediately, and spread out over the rooftops, searching for any sign of Talal.

"Aliyah, wait here for a moment," Malik called to her before she could follow.

"Yes, Dai?" she asked.

He grimaced. "We have spoken of this."

"I know," she replied. "I did not think it would be proper to call you by name here."

"The others do," he pointed out.

She blinked in surprise. "They never have in my presence."

"Perhaps for the same reason you will not in their presence," he replied pointedly.

She dipped her head in an acknowledging nod. "What do you need from me, Malik?"

He almost sighed with the relief that coursed through him.

"Is Talal's life mine to take?" she asked quietly, solemnly.

"No," he answered. "No, his life is Altair's to end."

She drew back slightly. "Altair?"

"Yes," Malik nearly snarled the word. "If I'd had my say, _his_ life would have ended some time ago."

"What do you need me to do?" she asked, hoping to guide Malik away from the topic before his mood turned black.

"You are to assist him," he replied and his tone turned caustic. "And in assisting him, you are to ensure that the Master's pet does not get himself killed before he can assassinate Talal."

"I shall," she said neutrally. Her thoughts wandered to Solomon's Temple, to the floor washed in Templar blood when it was Altair's failing that had caused Kadar's death. She had difficulty reconciling the man he was now with the man that had helped rescue her years before.

Boots sounded on the lattice outside and Aliyah stepped back into the shadows of the room as Altair entered the Bureau.

"Safety and peace, Malik," he said.

"Your presence here deprives me of both," Malik snapped. "What do you want?"

"Al-Mualim has asked—"

"He has asked that you perform some menial task in an effort to redeem yourself," Malik finished with a dismissive wave. "As though such a thing were indeed possible," he added. "Be out with it."

"Tell me what you can of a man named Talal," Altair said.

"It is your duty to find the man and assassinate him, not mine," Malik stated, his voice low with contempt.

"You would do well to assist me," Altair told him. "His death benefits the entire land."

"Do you deny that his death benefits you, as well?" Malik asked.

"That is no concern of yours," Altair told him flatly.

Malik slammed his hand down on the table. "Your actions very much concern me!" he yelled wrathfully, gesturing to his empty left sleeve.

Aliyah released a held breath. _Malik might have killed him then, were it not for the Master's command._

"Don't help me, then!" Altair replied hotly. "I'll find him myself!"

Aliyah was suddenly back in Solomon's Temple and her eyes narrowed dangerously. _After everything that happened, he cannot even_ feign _remorse!_

"Wait," Malik sighed as Altair began to storm away. "It won't do to have you stomping around the city like a blind man."

"I'm listening," Altair replied.

"There are three places you can look," Malik began checking them off on his fingers as he named them. "South, the market between the Muslim and Jewish Districts, North near the Mosque in this District, and East in front of Saint Anne's Church. That should be enough to get you started."

"Is that everything?" Altair asked, his tone offended.

"It's more than you deserve," Malik told him coldly and turned his back on the disgraced Assassin.

Altair strode from the room, his head still held high as though he had not been shamed. Aliyah watched him go and stepped from the shadows. Her first instinct was to go to Malik and her feet carried her to the table.

"You have your instructions," he told her.

"Of course," she replied, wincing inside from his hostile tone. She fought her impulse to help him gather his ink and tools from the shelves, knowing he would not appreciate it, and left the Bureau. She caught sight of Altair white robes vanishing over the edge of a distant roof and followed him. Careful to keep her distance, she watched from the rooftops as he located one, then another of Malik's informants.

"Help! Somebody help me!" a frightened woman cried from a side street where a group of men pushed her back and forth between them.

Aliyah straightened angrily, preparing to go to the woman's aid, and looked down at Altair, knowing she could find him again easily. The Assassin turned away from the scene playing out before him and she nearly lost herself in her anger. Then, before he had taken two steps, Altair turned back and approached the soldiers terrorizing the woman. Within moments, the men were dead and the woman was running back to the safety of her home.

Aliyah put her knives away and continued shadowing the Assassin.

 _Perhaps, he can be redeemed, after all._

As they drew near to Saint Anne's Church, Aliyah's pulse accelerated with fear as she saw Khadim, one of Malik's informers, sprinting down the street with guards on his heels. With a quick turn into an alley and an even quicker step behind a merchant's stall, he evaded his pursuers long enough to dodge into the corner of the courtyard wall.

As the guards had run past, Altair had stepped into the shadow of a side street. Now, he approached the spot where Khadim hid.

"No! Please! Don't kill me!" Khadim cried, throwing his hands up when Altair stepped around the corner front of him. "Oh, it is only you, Altair," he breathed in relief. "I barely escaped with my life! Please, get rid of the guards that are hunting me, I beg you!"

"I need information about Talal," Altair told him.

Aliyah glared at the back of his head. _He bargains for information with Khadim's life?!_

"I do not know so much," Khadim confessed. "But I will tell you what I can. Please, I want to live!"

"Very well," Altair replied and walked away. The first guard he found easily in a dim alley and ran his hidden blade through the man's back. However, the others were waiting in the shadows and surrounded the Assassin with weapons drawn.

"We've been looking for you, Assassin," one of them said with a vicious smile.

"Tired of running, finally?" another taunted.

One of them charged Altair while the others were speaking and the Assassin twisted out of the way, gutting the man as he staggered by, off balance. The other men attacked all at once, then, and Aliyah could not help but admire Altair's speed and lethal skill. However, as he fought three men in front of him, killing two and kicking the third into the wall, a fourth charged him from behind and Aliyah hurled a knife into the guard's throat. Altair spun to meet his attack, only to watch him sink to the ground. He looked up instantly, knowing the direction the knife had come from and scowled at the robed figure perched like a bird on the edge of a roof.

"I did not need your help," he spat angrily as he turned and ran the guard through as he stood, dizzy after his head had collided with the stone wall.

"The rip in the back of your robe disagrees," Aliyah replied coolly.

Altair spun around in surprise. "Aliyah? I did not realize that was you."

"The soldiers are coming," she told him blandly, jerking her head toward the open street.

With a hissed oath, Altair climbed the building to the roof where she crouched just as the soldiers entered the alley.

"Who is responsible for this?!"

The soldier's angry demand faded into the hum of the crowd as the two Assassins left the gruesome scene behind.

"What are you doing here?" Altair demanded.

"Al-Mualim assigned me to the Jerusalem Bureau," she replied.

"What are you doing _here_?" he repeated, impatient with her evasive answer.

She met his gaze coolly. "I am responsible for keeping you alive until you can assassinate Talal."

Altair's mouth opened to give a scathing reply but his anger and shock were so great that he could not speak a word.

Aliyah merely looked at him, obstinately unhelpful and the resentful look on her face that she refused to hide finally loosened his tongue.

"That is a laughable idea," he sneered and turned away.

"Is it truly?" she asked and grabbed the back of his robe so quickly that he was almost pulled off balance.

In turning to snatch away from her, he saw the long tear in his robe and paused for a moment.

"Did you think I was exaggerating?" She held the fabric out for him to see.

"Yes, I did," he snapped and pulled away from her angrily.

"Perhaps, you feel your robes would benefit from more red than what your sash provides," she commented with cold indifference.

"I preferred you when you barely spoke," he told her acidly and turned to leave.

"I preferred you when you were a man of integrity," she replied in the same tone before he had taken two steps.

He froze and she recognized the wrath that stiffened his posture. When he turned back, his blade was extended and murder glittered in his eyes.

"I should kill you for that," he menaced as he approached her.

"Kill me, and answer to Al-Mualim," she told him, wholly unafraid. "Or did you think I _volunteered_ for this duty?"

The contempt in her voice took him aback and he fought to reconcile this fearless, fiery woman with the terrified Templar captive they had rescued years before.

"You've spent far too much time in Malik's company," he stated scornfully.

"At least my survival is of concern to him," she replied evenly and saw just the slightest flinch in his eyes.

"You are mistaken if you honestly believe that he would not hesitate to sacrifice you to preserve the Brotherhood," he told her coldly.

A faint smile touched her mouth. "For the Brotherhood, I would sacrifice _myself_ , and willingly. But he would not take that right of choice from me. Like Al-Mualim, he comprehends the value of life."

"Oh yes, Malik comprehends the value of life," Altair mocked.

"He saved _my_ life," she reminded him. "And he spared _yours_ , did he not?"

Her words were like a slap and he stared at her in mute shock.

"Do you honestly believe that that is a secret?" she asked. "You must be aware of how badly he regrets it, at least."

"Yes, of that I am completely aware," he replied evenly, recalling the last conversation he'd had with Malik at Masyaf.

"Do you even know how many of us died on Templar blades that day?" she demanded.

"It was not as many as could—"

"Sixty-two," she interrupted his feeble argument, "and not all of them Assassins. Many of them were women, children, the old."

Every word was a blow, she could see it. However, she could also see the proud clench of his jaw and the unrepentant glare in his eyes.

"Have you ever returned to Solomon's Temple?" she asked suddenly.

"No, why would I?" he asked, surprised by the topic change.

She scoffed. "Of course you haven't. I knew better than to ask."

"Why would I?" he repeated.

"Why, it's the place where Kadar died in service to the Brotherhood," she answered with mocking innocence, then, her voice turned cold. "One would think you would at least go to pay respect. But then, what was Kadar to _you_?"

To that, Altair had no reply.

"Al-Mualim raised Malik to the position of Dai, it is true," she said, her voice dangerously low. "It is because he is wise. Because he knows Malik is capable and that he will not abuse the authority, pathetic compensation for his loss, though it is. _You_ cost him _everything_ and yet you refuse to even show him the respect due his _rank_!" she hissed vehemently.

Altair suddenly felt chilled. "Did you advocate for my death, as well, Aliyah?" he asked carefully.

She held his gaze for a moment. "I was not granted a voice in that decision," she told him.

Somehow, that did not comfort him.

"Everyone wonders still, why Al-Mualim decided to, not only spare you, but provide an opportunity for redemption," she continued. "The Master may have said your skills were too valuable to lose, but obviously his faith in your abilities is not as strong as it once was, else _I_ would not be _here_. And after all, it was _Malik_ who recovered the Piece of Eden."

Altair stood looking at her mutely for a moment. Aliyah's words were nearly as painful as Al-Mualim's dagger and the doubt he now felt certainly was.

 _She is right. It_ was _Malik who returned to Masyaf with the Apple. So, if not for my skills, then—_

"Have you acquired everything you need to carry out Talal's assassination?" she asked.

"No," he answered slowly. "There is still information that I lack."

She jerked her head toward the street. "Go and learn it, then, so that I may return to my other duties."

Hearing her command him almost goaded him to anger. Then, he remembered that he was no longer her superior.

"You will insist on following me, then," he said resentfully.

She narrowed her eyes. "Unlike some, I hold to the instruction of my superiors."

Hours later, Malik stood leaned over a fresh map, measuring distances carefully. At the sound of boots landing on stone, he paused, then, when he heard the same sound again, only softer, he rolled his eyes and laid down his instrument.

Malik," Altair called his name as he strode into the room.

"Have you come to waste more of my time?" Malik asked caustically.

"I have learned everything I need to know about my prey," Altair announced as Aliyah walked in behind him. "I am ready to begin my mission."

"That is for me to decide," Malik informed him and placed an enormous book on the table.

Aliyah left the room as Altair reported his findings, speaking so confidently as though the information could not change with a breath of wind. She rolled her eyes in disgusted frustration.

 _You cannot_ know _anything for certain._

"If I can avoid his men, Talal himself should not prove to be much of a problem," Altair's voice drifted outside to her.

"Not a problem?" Malik repeated incredulously. "Listen to you! Such arrogance!"

"Are you satisfied?" Altair demanded.

"No," Malik answered sharply. "But it will have to do."

Aliyah washed her face in the fountain and shook her head in disbelief over Altair's pride and Malik's consent.

"Rest, prepare, cry in the corner, do whatever it is you do before a mission. Only make sure you do it quietly," Malik told him acidly.

She did not turn when Altair stepped outside and seated himself on the pillows, though she felt him watching her.

"Aliyah," Malik called her name sharply.

She strode inside without a glance at the disgraced Assassin. "Yes, Malik?"

"Find the others and go to Talal's warehouse," he instructed. "I do not want there to be civilian casualties."

"Of course," she answered. "Am I to continue shadowing him?"

"No," he replied. "I do not expect him to have much difficulty carrying out _that_ part of his assignment."

The bitterness in his voice tore at her and she wanted to touch him, to reassure him that he was not alone in his pain. However, she forced herself to remain still, lest she act on that impulse.

"Is that all?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered.

She left immediately and sprinted across the rooftops to find Ibrahim. She found him standing in the ruins of an upper room with a clear view of the souk and the gate.

"Ibrahim," she called his name as she dropped into the shadows with him.

"What news, Sister?" he asked.

"I have instructions," she told him. "Malik wants us all to go to Talal's warehouse and protect the civilians there."

"Altair has his target, then?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied.

He snorted. "Is it Altair or Talal that concerns him?"

"He has no doubt that Talal will die today," she answered. "He does doubt Altair's concern for the lives of the people of Jerusalem, though. And who can say how far Talal will go to ensure his survival?"

Ibrahim sighed and nodded. "We will meet you at the warehouse."

Aliyah nodded and climbed to the roof again. With any luck, Khadim would still be near Saint Anne's Church.

Within an hour, the Assassins were standing in the shadows of an empty upper room, studying Talal's warehouse.

"Khadim, Askari, place yourselves there," Ibrahim said, gesturing to a shaded place that held benches and a well. "Yusuf, Jamal, Hakeem, mingle with the crowds. "Dabir, Farran, stay with me and we shall watch the warehouse for any sign of danger from Talal's men. Rashad and Sabir, I need you watching from the rooftops."

"Where do you need me?" Aliyah asked.

Ibrahim pointed to the buildings around the warehouse. "I need you on those rooftops. Among us, you are the best with throwing knives. You will be the first defense should things go badly."

The men murmured unhappily at that.

"She will be the first to die if things go badly," Khadim pointed out.

"I do not see things going that badly," Ibrahim replied.

"There is Altair," Yusuf announced, pointing to the crowd.

"Go," Ibrahim commanded.

They all vanished from the room, some by the door, the others by the windows.

Rashad and Sabir parted on the roof, each moving to flank the warehouse.

"Be careful, Sister," Rashad called to Aliyah as she ran past him.

"And you," she answered, with barely a pause. As she drew near the warehouse, she slowed her pace and cautiously selected a perch from which to watch. She could hear nothing and the inside was dark. From the outside, the building looked abandoned but two nights ago, when she had crept by in the shadows, she had heard the sobs and moans of the captured. While she had never seen the inside of Talal's warehouse, she knew what it held, how it smelled and sounded and that those who were fortunate were ignored by the guards. She had not been fortunate.

Suddenly, from inside the building came shouts and the sounds of steel striking steel and Talal leapt from a window onto a roof nearby. The man had barely taken three running steps when Altair appeared, leaping through the window after him, his robes flared like the wings of a bird of prey. Aliyah caught her breath at the sight and marveled at the speed with which he reacted to his prey's escape. She realized that, though his pride was a fatal flaw, it was not unfounded. One of Talal's men stepped into the opening then, with a bow drawn. Aliyah threw a knife before he could loose his arrow after the Assassin and the man tumbled to the ground. She stepped into Sabir's line of sight and waved, her hand open. When he responded with the same gesture, she dropped from the roof as the city's bells began to peal desperately.

Talal was dead.

Ibrahim met her at the well. "The others have returned to their posts, as shall I. Give our report to Malik."

Aliyah nodded and made her way back to the Bureau as quickly as she could. When she dropped through the opening in the lattice, she heard Altair's voice.

"Talal is dead."

"Oh, I know. I know," Malik's voice was deceptively calm and she paused outside, suddenly nervous. "In fact, the whole city knows!" his voice rose to a furious shout. "Have you truly forgotten the meaning of subtlety?"

"A skilled Assassin ensures that his work is noticed by the many," Altair replied smugly.

"No! A skilled Assassin maintains control of his environment," Malik answered hotly.

"We can argue the details all you like, Malik. But the fact remains that I have accomplished the task set to me by Al-Mualim," Altair told him, as though the Master's name gave his argument weight.

Malik was silent for a moment. "Go then," he said dismissively. "Return to the old man. We shall see with whom he sides."

"You and I are on the same side, Malik," Altair replied.

"I have not seen that for many years, Altair," Malik informed him coldly. "But perhaps, if you could convince my brother, he might in turn convince me."

The words pierced Aliyah to her soul and she leaned against the fountain wall to catch her breath. No one had ever dared to make the argument that Kadar's death had been meaningful. The day she had been rescued, she had seen Altair's abilities as a fighter. Now, having witnessed Altair's skill as an Assassin firsthand, she felt hot tears pricking her eyes as the irrefutable proof settled in her mind that Kadar's death had not only been meaningless, it had been _unnecessary_.

* * *

Altair walked outside and paused when he saw Aliyah standing against the wall. When she raised her eyes to look at him, there was no hostility in her gaze, only a deep grief.

"Why did Kadar die, Altair?" she asked softly, her eyes shimmering with repressed tears. "Al-Mualim sent you to retrieve the Templar treasure because you were the most skilled of us all. Even Malik will not deny that. So why, then, was the cost so high? How can the man that left Solomon's Temple alone and empty-handed be the same man that played such a significant role in my rescue years ago?"

He stared at her, recalling the fierceness of their altercation earlier that day. Now, suddenly, she was just the same as she had been the day they had found her, lost confused, her eyes dark with the sense of betrayal. He had no answer to give her and the doubt she had put in his mind before returned.

 _If I was—am—so skilled, why was I not able to kill Robert de Sable in the Temple and retrieve the Apple?_

He left without a word and did not stop until he was outside the city gates. He mounted his stallion and prepared to leave for Masyaf, then hesitated.

 _Have you ever returned to Solomon's Temple?_

The question rang in his ears and he set the horse toward the trail to the caves. The sun was setting when he arrived and he approached cautiously. At the sound of voices, he flattened himself against the rocks and sweat trickled down his back when he saw torchlight approaching.

"The men won't go down there anymore after sundown," one voice said. "Not since one of them Assassins murdered fifty of us in one night."

Altair started slightly at those words. He had the skill for such a feat, as had Malik at one time, but he could think of no one else who possessed that capability.

 _Which one of us is responsible for that?_

"No point in going down into them caves anyway," a second voice said. "Nothing down there worth getting anymore, unless you just want to die of a chill."

"Only thing I want is a soft bed and a soft woman to go with it," the other man remarked and they laughed as they walked away.

Altair watched the light disappear with relief and slipped inside the caves. The way was familiar and he encountered no opposition. When he stepped into the great cavern that housed the Temple, the torches were dying but there was enough light to guide him to the floor. Memories washed over him and he saw the events unfold again in his mind. After Robert had thrown him from the room, he had no idea what had transpired to bring about Kadar's death. He looked down at the sandy floor, half expecting to see the boot scuffs of the battle that day, but of course many boots had crossed the cavern since then.

 _Wait, is that…blood?_

He took a half step and swept away some of the dust with his foot to reveal a dark stain on the stone. Then, he stepped back, widened his focus and realized that it wasn't the only one. He strode across the room, sweeping sand away with each step until he could see most of the floor clearly. Half of the room was stained the dark brown of dried blood and he saw more than one dragging trail where bodies had been removed. A certain horror filled him as he realized what he was looking at. According to the stains, the bodies had all been in one spot and any struggle had been terribly minimal.

 _The fallen were left as bait to draw in the others. Whoever was responsible obviously did not wait in the open…_

He looked around the room, searching for the most likely place the attacker would have waited. On the far side of the cavern were broken columns whose rubble had fallen into jumbled piles. He strode over and carefully examined the spot, testing the likelihood of his theory. As his gaze fell to the ground, he realized the dust was largely undisturbed in this spot and he went to get one of the sputtering torches to see the ground more clearly. Behind one of the columns, he found a pair of boot prints almost perfectly preserved.

 _So, I was right. They did stalk their prey from here._

Then, he knelt to examine the prints more closely. They were far smaller than any man's.

"What…?" he breathed in shock. "That is not possible."

 _Have you ever returned to Solomon's Temple?_

He shook his head, fiercely denying the truth the cavern presented.

 _Have you ever returned to Solomon's Temple?_

"No," he answered, and the cavern echoed his quiet reply like an accusation. "But I can see that you did."


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Hello! Hello? Helloooo? Is anybody still there? So sorry it's taken me so long. But the semester's over now :D Happy Day! This one took a while to write actually. It's lots of dialogue. Setting the stage. Moving certain things along that need moving along. Things should pick up a little more in the next chapter. It was really hard to finish too. It's 2am, guys. 2-flipping-am because I couldn't stop until it was finished and then I uploaded immediately. See? I love you guys! I really do!

I'm nodding off writing this A/N. Hope you enjoy and I promise more butt-kicking in the near(?) future.

* * *

Aliyah awoke in the middle of the night to a repetitive dull thud, the sound of an object striking wood. Moving ever so silently, she arose and crept out of the room, her hand poised to extend her hidden blade. A narrow shaft of light fell across the hallway and the sound grew louder as she followed the light to its source. In the main room, a single candle was lit on the table and she saw Malik in its glow. His face was hard and his eyes held a piercing look and as she watched, he hurled a throwing knife into one of the wooden posts in the wall where it joined five others in a small cluster.

"Tuck your elbow into your body," she said softly.

He started at the sound but when he realized who stood in the doorway, he relaxed and chuckled to hear his instructions repeated.

"Why are you up at this hour?" he asked.

She cast a meaningful glance at the knives buried halfway into the post.

He winced and looked at her apologetically. "And the others?"

"Sleeping soundly," she answered.

"Or ignoring it," he added.

"How often do you spend your nights like this?" she asked, worried to hear the answer.

"Not as often of late as I have," he replied. "I was an Assassin before I was a Dai, I still haven't shed the habit of practice."

She looked at him with a stunned expression. "You say that…as though…you are not an Assassin any longer."

"A cripple cannot be an Assassin," he said dismally.

"Malik—"

"Are you going to try to tell me that I'm not a cripple?" he demanded sarcastically.

She straightened and looked him full in the face. "No more than you would try to convince me that I was not a Templar whore," she replied coolly.

He winced at her use of the word. "That was different," he insisted. "For you…they—they took everything. Your identity. Your very sense of _self_."

"And you still have that, do you?" she challenged and suddenly felt as though they were in the grotto at Masyaf. Only now, their places were reversed and it was _she_ who was commanding _him_ to strike, forcing him to fight back so that he could find his balance and stay on his feet.

"I know who I am," he growled in a dangerous voice.

"Do you?" she countered. "Or did you?"

He reared back from her slightly, off-balance by her blunt question.

"Malik al-Sayf, the Assassin, was a man you knew well. A man you for whom you held high standards. A man you respected," she told him, her voice a little softer. "Malik al-Sayf, the Dai of Jerusalem, is a man you do not know at all. And because of that, you think him weak and incapable. But, in your contempt of him, you have neglected to notice the ones around him, the ones he commands."

She could see by the look in his eyes that she had bruised him and a part of her heart broke at the sight but at the same time, she watched him settle more firmly into his stance as he turned to face her directly.

"Pray, tell me what I have missed," he said and his tone was almost mocking.

She ignored it. "These men respect you," she said. "They follow your instructions without hesitation and they are _loyal_ to you."

"No more than they were to the Dai before me," he argued dimly, looking at the floor but something in his voice sounded as though he wanted to hope.

She shook her head. "You did not see their faces when I passed your instructions to them today, that we were to safeguard the people during Talal's assassination."

He glanced up, his face set in a frown that was both wary and curious.

"The anger, the contempt for the idea that such a thing would ever be necessary and the concern when they realized that you believed that it was," she went on. "Not one of them was pleased that the task had fallen to Altair. Khadim went so far as to ask how Al-Mualim could grant the right to end Talal's life to someone who was so unworthy."

Malik's eyes went wide with surprise. Khadim was the most cautious of the men and had always kept his own counsel. "I can hardly believe he spoke those words. How did the others reply?"

 _If I had heard it from anyone but you, I would have dismissed it entirely._

"In various ways," she replied. "A good deal of it was cursing. Ibrahim suggested that perhaps that the sole reason was because the assignment was hardly significant and was the extent of Al-Mualim's confidence."

"Ibrahim," Malik repeated, shaking his head. "That does not surprise me."

"I was a little surprised, I confess," she answered. "Though not as much as I should have been, I'm sure."

"I feel as though I should apologize to you," Malik told her, his voice soft with remorse. "For having you follow him for so long."

"Malik, don't you see?" she stepped closer to him. "As disgusted as they were with the content of their task, they followed your instructions without hesitation and without question."

"Yes, so your report said," he replied carefully. Her hair was loose, tumbling down her back and over her shoulder in thick, black waves. The candlelight cast its soft glow on her face, emphasizing her black-rimmed eyes, her full lips and the scar that ran along her cheekbone to disappear at her hair-line.

 _When did that happen?_

"You underestimate and undervalue these men, Malik," she told him gently. "They follow you and not because you are their Dai. For them, there is no difference between Malik, the Assassin of Masyaf, and Malik, the Dai of Jerusalem. They trust you."

"They trust the man who allowed his brother to die?" Malik's voice was dismal and caught on suppressed tears.

"Malik, everyone knows what happened in Solomon's Temple," she said, her own voice pained and she approached until she stood in front of him, less than an arm's length away. "And the only person who blames you for Kadar's death, is you." She wanted so badly to provide the solace he had provided for her years ago.

"I let it happen!" his voice was strained and he clenched his teeth against the pain in his throat.

Finally, for the first time since her arrival in Jerusalem, her gaze went to his left shoulder, to the empty sleeve. "Did you?" the question was whispered and he saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes.

He had no answer to give her and when she cupped his face in her hands, the tears he held back so stubbornly threatened to fall.

"They know you will not lead them wrongly," she told him.

She turned to leave and reached the door before he found his voice.

"And you?" he asked hoarsely and she turned back. "Do you trust me?"

A soft smile touched her mouth. "Always."

She forced herself to walk calmly out of the room. However, the moment she settled into her bedroll, the hot tears she had held back through pure force of will during her encounter with Malik streamed silently from her eyes as she fell into a restless, sleep. Nightmares plagued her for the remainder of the night. Dreams of Solomon's Temple. Kadar's death. _Malik's_ death. The dreams were painfully detailed, as though they were not dreams at all. More than once, she came violently awake and fought the urge to look in on him to reassure herself that he was alright.

She awoke the next morning to the sound of rain and when she looked out the window, she could barely see the buildings across the street.

"Are you ill, Sister?"

She turned to see Ibrahim standing in the doorway. "I don't believe so. Why?"

"You've always risen before the rest of us," he said, a teasing light in his eyes. "I thought perhaps you'd fallen sick."

She smiled slightly. "I couldn't sleep last night," she told him tiredly.

He nodded. "I had difficulty sleeping last night, as well. And I don't think any of us slept _well_."

Aliyah followed him into the main room. The other Assassins were huddled in a circle and Malik was setting out his inks and papers.

"What are you doing?" Aliyah asked as she approached the men.

"We're going to draw lots," Khadim explained, arranging pieces of straw. "Whoever draws the short straw gets to stay inside the Bureau and stay dry."

"That sounds like an excellent wager," she agreed. "But I don't think you should be the one to hold the straws, Khadim."

He looked up at her in shock. "You question my integrity, Sister?"

She shook her head. "Of course not. But you can't possibly want to go out in this storm, can you?"

"Well, no," Khadim replied as though the answer was obvious.

She looked around the group. "Do any of you want to go outside?"

They all shook their heads.

"So, can you say, in complete honesty, that you would accept your drawn lot without questioning the one who held the straws?" she asked.

The men looked at each other with mild suspicion. They trusted each other with their lives, however, drawing lots to determine if they would spend the day wet or dry was a different matter.

"I suppose you will volunteer to hold the straws for the drawing?" Ibrahim said to her.

She shook her head again. "No, I will not elevate myself in such a way. Not one of us is wholly incorruptible. I do have a solution, though." She took the straws and strode to Malik's table. "Will you do us the honor, Malik?"

He looked up in surprise as she laid the straws on the table. Her eyes sparkled with the smile she was hiding and he straightened with a slightly suspicious frown.

"You just said not one of us is wholly incorruptible," he reminded her.

"True," she answered. "But as Dai, you are the closest we may ever see."

"Very well," he said and spread the straws out. He selected the short straw and handed it to Aliyah and when the men started to object, he silenced them with a look. "Hold the straw against the post," he told her.

She stepped to the post he had used for knife practice the night before and held the straw against it with a finger, looking at Malik with a puzzled expression.

"Drawing straws is for children," Malik said, coming out from behind the table. Without taking a single step toward the post, he hurled a knife across the room and pinned the straw to the wood. "The one who gets to avoid the storm, is the one who cuts the straw in half, or comes closest to doing so."

Khadim went first. He stepped back to the spot where Malik had stood and threw a knife. The blade struck close to the straw but to the left. The others followed, each missing the straw by the mere width of a finger. Ibrahim stepped in to throw and his knife sunk neatly into the straw, splitting the end. The other men groaned and Malik nodded approvingly, then he looked at Aliyah expectantly as she stepped forward.

She met his gaze and saw a daring glint in his eyes, reminiscent of the day he had challenged her to a race him up the cliff. She pursed her lips in concentration as she studied the target. Then, she flung her knife as though she was skipping a rock across the water and the blade sliced through the straw, cutting it neatly in half. The men stared in stunned silence and Malik's eyes were wide in undisguised shock.

"That," Malik began slowly and the men turned to look at him, "is why she was given the task of killing Saamir Rahimi."

A low murmur went through them and Aliyah watched Malik carefully. After his initial reaction of surprise, his expression had gone curiously neutral and she tried to see past it into his thoughts.

"Why didn't I think of that?" Khadim asked aloud of no one in particular after staring at the knife sunk horizontally into the wood amidst the other vertically placed blades.

"The rain is waiting," Malik told them. "Well, for some of you, at least."

The men nodded silently, retrieved their knives and left the Bureau.

"Why did you say that?" Aliyah asked Malik as she twisted her knife free of the wood. "You know it isn't true."

"What are you referring to?" he asked in reply, writing notes for his map.

"I was tasked with killing Saamir because, if I failed, the Brotherhood would suffer no loss."

Malik shook his head. "Al-Mualim knew you were capable—"

"Al-Mualim _said_ as much that day," she interrupted. "He never expected me to return alive."

Malik set his pen down and finally looked at her. Her expression was pained with the memories and he felt guilt prod his stomach as he recalled the words he had said to Al-Mualim to convince the Master to allow her to train.

"Do you truly think he would have sent you if he had believed that you had absolutely no hope of succeeding?" he asked in a tone that said she should know better.

She cocked her head at him, her eyes slanted disapprovingly at the slight, patronizing sound of his question, then looked away. "I would hope not," she answered softly.

"Men and women have always, and will always, think differently," Malik told her, suddenly sounding like the man who had trained her in the grotto outside Masyaf. "He hoped that you would be able find a way to approach Saamir that the ones before you could not. Much like you did just then with the straw."

She nodded, accepting his explanation, then she frowned. "Why did you choose knife throwing to make the decision?"

Malik shrugged and drew a knife. "The others never honed that skill to such a degree, by their own admission, and Ibrahim is far better than they are—"flipping it in his grip, he hurled it toward the post where it sunk deep into the grooved wood—"and you are better than him. Although, when he threw, I was afraid to entertain the idea of a different outcome."

Aliyah stared at him, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to understand his reasoning.

"Do it again," he said, glancing meaningfully at his knife.

The command revived the memories of dozens of nights in the grotto. Though her master had been harsh, Malik had been nearly merciless by comparison, forcing her past the point of exhaustion with those three words. She threw the knife in her hand and it bit deep into the wood again, scoring Malik's blade with brief shriek.

 _Surely, that isn't what he means…_

"Are you…saying that…you knew I would beat them?" she asked carefully.

A small, half-smile touched his mouth. "Not one of us is wholly incorruptible."

His words nearly sent her reeling and the look in his eyes rooted her to the floor. She had only seen that expression once before, the day he told her that she was no longer prey. The look held admiration…and something else.

"I would appreciate your help, however," he said. His voice was warm, like it had been in the past and his eyes were kind.

"Of course," she replied, fighting to keep her voice from sounding like an infatuated girl. "What can I do?"

He sighed and glanced at the shelves with a resigned expression. "Get me the rest of my inks and those scrolls on the far end."

She moved quickly to do as he requested and when she had placed the items on the table, he pushed an inkwell and the stack of papers he had been writing on toward her.

"Write what I tell you," he said.

She nodded and chose a clean piece of paper, noticing his small nod of approval and knowing he could not possibly guess the actual reason behind the choice. She was unwilling to risk marring his handwriting.

As he worked, he dictated the notes he needed to her, measurements, names, places that needed special correction. His presence soothed away her anxiety from her nightmares and her mind became quiet, only listening to the scratch of her pen and his rich, deep voice. He trusted her enough to admit he needed help and the thought wrapped around her like a warm blanket.

Suddenly, her stomach grumbled and she looked up in surprise.

Malik chuckled. "We will stop for now."

"I'll prepare a meal," she said and left for the small kitchen. As she prepared the meat and vegetables for a stew, she suddenly felt different and as she stirred the pot and added spices, she realized why.

This is what she truly wanted. This was who she had dreamed of being since her childhood.

This was who she could never be.

She closed her eyes as a dull ache settled in her stomach and tears pressed against her eyelids.

 _I only want to take care of you, Malik. I would surrender everything if it would grant me that._

She paused in the shadow of the doorway with their bowls of stew. Malik still stood at the table, leaned over the map and making measurements, pausing often to make a note. In his concentration, the hard, bitter lines around his eyes and mouth had vanished, as though he had forgotten his limitation, his loss. Longing washed over her and she turned away and leaned weakly against the wall.

 _My life is nothing but impossible wants._

As she closed her eyes to control the pain in her heart, she could see herself walking into the room, not as an Assassin under his authority, but as his wife. And though the pain pierced her to her very soul, she could hear the laughter of children. His children.

 _Impossible wants, each one…_

With a deep breath, she concealed her emotions behind the mask she wore whenever she was in his presence, and stepped into the room with their food.

He looked up as she entered. "That smells wonderful."

She smiled. "Hashima gave me her recipe some time ago."

They went and sat on the pillows to eat.

"Hashima's recipe?" he asked once he'd tasted it.

"I added a few different spices," she confessed.

He nodded appreciatively. "It's very good."

"Thank you," she replied, her heart soaring. "I haven't prepared a meal like this in some time."

"Well, I won't tell the others," he said with a grin. "They should not start thinking that they live a life of luxury."

"You are too kind," she told him, laughing. "What do you think the future holds for us, Malik?" she asked after a moment of companionable silence.

He sighed. "Unfortunately, I can see nothing but war for the Assassins. Even if the Templars cease their conquest here, they will always exist and so long as they exist, we have an enemy to combat. Their desire for power, for control, is insatiable and at times I…"

"At times…what?" she asked when he did not continue.

"At times, I worry that we fight a war we cannot win," Malik said softly. "That we are doomed to defeat. Maybe not now, but twenty years, fifty years, one hundred years from now, who can say?"

"What makes you think we cannot win?" Aliyah queried in concern.

He put his spoon down and sat back. "We fight the Templars' attempts to control the land," he began, his tone that of a teacher. "If we state the struggle simply, we would say that we fight Templar control and the cold truth is found in those words. We fight their power, their control but such things are not limited to the Templars. Those things are found in every individual. Every living thing desires power and control, the only question then, is: To what extent? Does a person only wish to have some measure of control over their own lives?"

Malik's words sent Aliyah's heart racing with anxiety.

 _I did. I wanted control of my life._

"Do they wish for that control to extend to the people around them?" Malik continued. "If so, how far? A home? A village? A town? A city? A country? The world?"

"But power and control are necessary," Aliyah said, hoping he would clarify his meaning.

"Yes," he agreed. "Used properly, they are the means by which order, peace and justice are established and maintained. The Brotherhood is no exception. The danger lies in the nature of power and that it is seductive. Saamir was proof of that. What we truly fight against, is human nature, even among ourselves. We who profess to defend the land from Templar control are not immune to the human lust for power and the more one has, the more one is in danger of wanting. And against that, I fear we cannot win."

"You paint a bleak future for the Assassins," Aliyah remarked softly.

He gave a small shrug.

"And what about the future of Malik al-Sayf?" she asked.

He gave a humorless laugh. "Not much better, I'm afraid."

"Be honest," she said with a smile, trying to pull him from the dark mood he was falling into. "How much thought have you given it?"

He frowned at her, but his amused grin kept tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You make is sound as though I've given it no thought at all."

"I don't think you have, no," she replied. "Not significantly, anyway."

He opened his mouth to argue.

"You have always had…a broader vision than others," she went on before he could interrupt. "You can look ahead and judge the future by a single action performed today."

Malik looked at her in disbelief and shook his head in denial.

"You know it's true," she told him. "You would have tolerated Altair's arrogance if you had not seen the severity of the repercussions if he was not checked. The attack on Masyaf would never have happened if Al-Mualim had only listened to you."

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Dangerous speech, Aliyah," he warned.

"That is why I say it to you," she answered. "You will not misinterpret my words."

He leaned back and nodded.

"I worry about you," she said. "I worry that you will spend so much time seeing to the needs of the Brotherhood that you will neglect to see to yourself and what you need."

"I need nothing," he said too quickly, too darkly.

"Malik," her voice was soft yet, reproachful.

"Or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that no one has need of me," he went on. "Once, I entertained the idea of a…family," he said the word as though it was painful. "Once. But those days are long past."

She recognized the tone of his voice. "You don't believe that."

He looked at her sharply.

"Not yet," she finished. "You try to convince yourself of that and some days, you almost succeed. I know. I did the same thing for years. Every morning, every night, I would tell myself that I deserved nothing more and nothing less and some days…I almost believed it."

"How did you come to that place where we found you?" Malik asked after a moment. "How did they come to have you?"

She hesitated, bracing herself to examine those memories. "When I was thirteen, my father married me to a rich merchant in Jerusalem. Of course, I never saw him until our wedding day and I had spent so many nights crying myself to sleep, terrified that I would be marrying one of my father's business associates. All of them were repulsive men and their wives detested them. So, you might can imagine my delight when I finally saw the man I was to marry and he was young, tall, handsome. My marriage was nothing more than a business transaction, I knew that even then, but I had deeply hoped that we might come to love each other. He treated his workers strictly but he never so much as raised his voice to me and he took every opportunity to comment to our visitors what I perfect wife I was."

She sighed. "That was all I had ever wanted to be. A good wife. A good mother. When I turned fourteen, he took me with him to Damascus to do business with my father. On our way back to Jerusalem, the caravan was attacked. I remember being knocked to ground, a sword, so much blood. As I lost consciousness, I realized that it was all mine. When I finally awoke from the fever, the doctors told me that while they had saved my life, I had lost…my ability to bear children," she paused as her throat tightened painfully.

Malik looked at her in horror and shame. "Aliyah, forgive me. You don't have to tell me this."

She shook her head with a bitter smile. "That is the worst part for me now. Everything else ended and I have become someone new but that…that is still gone. I grieved myself nearly into illness. All I had ever wanted and that was what was taken. My husband came to comfort me as I wept that I had no purpose any longer. 'A woman is never without purpose,' he told me. Then, he threw me to his men."

Malik stared, speechless.

"I was able to keep track of time, how old I was, because I was allowed to know the days, weeks and months. And you know why I was being taken to Damascus that day."

"What made you run?" he asked, remembering seeing her tumble down the sand dune.

"I wanted to die," she said simply. "I had hoped I could provoke them into killing me."

Malik's mouth set into a grim line. "We are not supposed to take pleasure in ending a life, but I am glad we were able to end theirs that day."

"And I was glad to see it done," she replied. "Something else I will be glad to see done—" she stretched tiredly "—that map."

Malik smiled. "That map won't be finished today."

"Well, we can try, at least," she said brightly, dispelling the dark mood.

While she cleaned up the dishes, Malik began opening the inkwells.

"I had only assumed you were educated," he said when she came back into the room. "Your writing ability is impressive."

"I can work numbers and manage ledgers, as well," she told him proudly. "My father believed that an education increased a woman's value. Though it may be hard to believe, I was an expensive bride," she added with a smirk.

"I can certainly believe it," Malik answered. "But however much he paid for you, it couldn't possibly have been close to your worth."

His words filled her with such a lightness that she feared she would faint. When she resumed writing his notes, her steady hand gave no indication of her fluttering heartbeat.

She had to leave Jerusalem. She couldn't bear being so close to him and yet have him so far out of reach. The mere sound of his voice stole her breath, yet, she felt that she would never breathe again without it.

 _Now you know, Malik. Now you know everything._

He could not find out about her feelings. She could not bear the thought of forcing him to accept or reject her. However, the longer she was in Jerusalem, the more danger she was in of betraying herself.

 _Well, almost everything._


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Hihi! I know, I know! It's been a while...again. Sorry. I've been working steadily on this chapter and not only did it require looking up a map to prevent me from making an embarrassingly obvious geographical error, but it just would not eeennnnd! Things kept happening that had to be resolved (somewhat). Talking lots of drama here, ladies and gentlemen, and lots of talking again. The next chapter should have MORE butt-kicking. A little more, anyway.

I've often wondered how and where Al-Mualim got the information he passed to Altair. (Yes, we know what was really going on, but he had to keep track of things somehow, ya know?) So, I decided to solve that for myself in this chapter, somewhat.

Anyhoo, enjoy!

Shoutout to **GrimmaulDee**! Thanks so much for reviewing, it put a smile on my face for the rest of that day. So glad you've found me and are enjoying! Hope that doesn't change!

BTW guys, ohmigosh **51 follows**! I'm squealing right now! Thank you guys so much! I feel loved!

A/N: Had to fix a tiny thing. Probably not necessary, but it was bugging me.

* * *

"Malik!" Khadim cried as his boots landed on the stone floor of the Bureau.

"Yes, Khadim?" Malik called from the table.

Khadim strode inside, water dripping from his robes, nearly shaking with excitement. "Talal entrusted his operation to five men, should anything happen to him. We have their names."

"How did you find them?" Malik asked, shocked. "Are they so careless?"

Khadim shook his head. "Ibrahim rescued a woman from their guards. She told us that they had intended to take her to a warehouse in the Poor District. We found others and watched them carefully. Malik, they are dangerously close to continuing Talal's work and with this many of them, once they begin, we may not be able to stop them."

"Because they may, in turn, entrust the task to others should tragedy befall them," Malik finished. "Who are they?" he asked, gesturing to Aliyah to write the names down.

"Abu Bakir Bahar, Azzam Basara, Butros Khouri, Salim Shunnar and Ra'id ibn Sabir," Khadim counted the names off on his fingers, not noticing the way she hesitated over the last name.

"What would you have us do, Malik?" Ibrahim asked, striding into the room, followed by three of the other men.

Malik looked up at them with a questioning frown.

"The rest of us are keeping watch," Ibrahim told him. "Only two of those men are out in this weather and we heard the other three announce their intentions of remaining indoors."

Malik took the list and studied it thoughtfully. "How likely are they to actually _succeed_ in continuing Talal's affairs?"

"They have already made plans to secure a 'shipment'," Khadim replied. "Azzam and Butros are the ones out making sure the warehouses are secure."

"They may be unaware of the exact nature of Talal's work," Malik said slowly. "And even if they are, they may not be willing participants."

"I recognize these names, Malik," Aliyah said, her voice low. "They are aware and they are willing."

Malik looked at her and clenched his teeth to keep from questioning her.

 _How do you know these men, Aliyah?_

"Each of you choose a name," Malik instructed. "One you know you can eliminate quickly and _without_ raising the alarm."

"We are not Altair, Dai," Ibrahim said.

Malik nodded in acknowledgement. "Be cautious, but be quick. We cannot afford to lose these men."

"I will take Ra'id," Aliyah said before anyone else could speak and Malik crossed off the name.

The men looked at her in alarm but the deadly pitch of her voice made them hesitant to question her.

"Aliyah," Ibrahim began, "he is the best guarded of them all. His home is like a small fortress."

"Well, I trust you will not leave me wholly to my own devices," she replied with small smile, accepting his concern but the tone of her voice informed him that she would not change her mind.

"I will take Azzam," Khadim said and Malik crossed off that name as well.

"You do not need to do this, Aliyah," Ibrahim insisted. "You have proven your worth ten times over. To risk your life in this way would be foolish."

She lifted her eyes to his and a chill ran up his spine.

"Would you care to settle this by knife throw, as well?" she asked, her voice dangerously sweet.

"I will take Butros."

Malik crossed another off the list.

"I only speak from concern," Ibrahim said. "There is no need for you to die unnecessarily."

"How would you get inside?" she asked, throwing his argument off-balance. "The guards do not react to distractions. Richard himself could arrive at those gates with all of his war machines and they would not leave their posts until Ra'id commanded it. You cannot scale the walls and you cannot leap inside from another roof. There is a way in but in the time it would take me to tell you how to find it, I could already be inside."

"I will take Abu Bakir."

Malik crossed off that name and looked expectantly at Ibrahim.

The Assassin sighed. "I will take Salim."

"Good," Malik said. "Go, all of you."

They climbed up into the rain and lightning cracked across the sky as they sprinted across the rooftops. Aliyah dropped to the street, donned her brown cloak and made her way to Ra'id's home. More guards were present than she had expected.

 _Of course, he expects an attempt on his life._

She made her way around to the back, thankful for the rain, and paused when she saw the guards standing by the stables. Of course, the stables were not the way inside but the guards were too close to the entrance she needed. She strode forward, the storm concealing her from sight and covering the sound of her steps. The men were unaware of her approach until she sunk her hidden blade into one's throat and plunged her dagger into the throat of the other. The guard would not change for at least another hour. She had plenty of time.

Years ago, she remembered the servants saying a tree had stood at this point of the wall and when it fell in a storm, they had tried to fill in the hole. No matter how much dirt they shoveled into the hole, it was always loose and shifting. With the rain pounding the ground, all that dirt was nearly gone and she could see clearly to the other side. She slid under the wall, only just able to fit, shed her cloak and walked inside. The smells and sights were painfully familiar and brought back the memories of shattered hopes. As she had expected, there only a few guards inside the house. She killed each one quickly and quietly.

Ra'id's chambers were on the highest floor and she knew the doors would be locked so she stepped out onto the second floor balcony and began climbing the wall. The rain made the stone slick but she barely noticed. She pulled herself over the balcony railing and stepped inside.

Ra'id reclined on dozens of cushions, reading a letter and drinking wine from a silver chalice.

The years had made him even more handsome.

Suddenly, he looked up and his eyes went wide with shock at the soaked, robed figure standing in his room.

Aliyah dropped her hood.

"Hello, Husband."

SJ

Salim ran blindly down the alley, sobbing like a child. Azzam was dead, murdered, and he knew a blade would find him soon but before he could cry for help, a heavy weight slammed into him from above and drove him to the ground. He barely had time to feel the pain of his shattered face when a blade pierced deep into his throat.

Ibrahim stood up and looked resentfully at the body of his victim, then at Khadim. Salim had walked up the street just as Khadim attacked.

"I am sorry, Ibrahim," Khadim said, wiping his blade clean. "I did not see him in time."

Ibrahim waved the apology away. Salim was dead and that was what mattered.

"Let us return before we catch our deaths," Khadim said and started walking back to the Bureau.

Ibrahim turned to follow, then stopped and looked over his shoulder toward Ra'id's home. Aliyah was more than capable of eliminating her target and yet, he felt as though she was in danger. In the Bureau when she chose Ra'id as her target, he had never seen her so cold before, not even when Abdul had tried to kill her.

 _You did not simply want Ra'id dead. You wanted to kill him yourself…_

He turned around and ran for Ra'id's home.

 _Don't do this, Aliyah! You have come too far to fall so low!_

SJ

Ra'id laughed nervously as he stood and stepped clear of the pillows.

"I would ask if my sins have returned to me," he began, "but that would require belief in the Divine."

"And the acknowledgment that you had, indeed, sinned," Aliyah replied coldly.

"I never expected to see you again," he told her. "What _are_ you wearing?"

She refused to grace the absurd question with an answer. "How many are taking part in Talal's business?"

"If I tell you, will you spare my life?" he asked.

"No," she told him flatly.

"Then, I have nothing to say to you," he crossed his arms and smiled insolently.

"You have many things to say to me," she answered. "Though little of it I care to hear." She flung a knife and it pierced deeply into his arm. The dagger he had drawn clattered to the floor as he cried out in pain.

"Don't do that again," she warned coldly as she walked up to him. He raised his other hand to strike her and she spun away and slashed across the back of his knee with a second knife. He cried out again as his leg collapsed beneath him.

"Where do you take these people?" she asked conversationally.

He cursed and tried to stand, clutching his arm.

"Let me return to a simpler question," she said and pushed him back down with her foot. "How many men are involved in continuing Talal's affairs?"

He glared up at her from the floor and pushed himself up so that he sat against the wall. "Only me," he spat and even half crippled, his gaze was arrogant.

"Wrong," she told him with a smirk. "There were five of you. I only wanted to see if you would tell me the truth."

He scowled, then a look of stunned shock crossed his face as he realized what she'd said.

"There _were_ five of you," she repeated.

"Impossible," he argued imperiously.

"Why? Because you are vigilant?" she asked, seeing the anxious shift in his expression. "You may be, perhaps, but the others?" she shrugged. "Well, I suppose not every man can purchase an army to guard his home."

"You cannot stop us," he told her with a cold smile.

Malik's words came back to her.

 _What we truly fight against, is human nature, even among ourselves. And against that, I fear we cannot win._

"We have already stopped you once," she replied. "And tonight, we will stop you again. And every night from here on, we shall stop you."

He smirked. "You do not sound so sure."

"Where do you take these people?" she asked again.

"Do you think I am afraid of a little pain?" he asked. "Do you think I am afraid to die?" He gripped his arm and wrung blood from the wound. "I am only one man. The time you spend killing me will be time my brothers spend furthering our success. Whether in life or death, I shall be honored."

She cocked her head, an amused light in her eyes. "You believe that you sit so high among men?"

He smirked. "I sit among the greatest men the world shall ever see."

"Yet, you are only one man," she repeated his words. "And not the man first trusted to carry out this task. So, tell me, just how high is your seat among these great men?"

Dark fury filled his eyes at her challenge.

"No honor has yet to be paid to Talal," she went on. "No great men attended his funeral and his name has vanished from the streets. Why do you believe that you will not be forgotten just as quickly?"

Fury gave way to loathing and he started to rise, murder in his gaze.

Aliyah walked away from him and peered behind the curtains into the bedchamber, ignoring his groan of pain and frustration when his leg wouldn't support his weight.

"Did you ever take another wife?" she asked casually.

Ra'id gave a bark of laughter, as though he found the question preposterous. "I have no need of wives. I had no need of _you_. Your father's merchants in the cities, his reputation with the guards, those things I needed. You were simply the signature on a contract."

She laughed then, as though she found him naive. "You think I was not aware of this from the very first?"

He shrugged carelessly.

"Sending them to Acre seems a waste of effort since Richard has claimed it," she said and held her breath, praying her memory was correct. So many years had passed since she'd overheard her father speaking to the Captain of Acre's city guard.

"Richard claiming Acre has made our goals that much more attainable," he countered.

"I have not been to Acre in some time," she commented. "Is it truly so lacking in whores and lepers?"

"Of course not," he scoffed. "But suspicions would have been aroused if so many of them suddenly appeared in the Hospital, although Garnier argued strongly against that decision." He chuckled. "Given time, I might have found _you_ in his care."

Her blood turned to ice and she looked at him, pure hatred burning through her for the first time in her life. All of the torment he had caused her and he _laughed_ at her.

As her husband, she had cared for him and as a girl, she had been infatuated with his masculine presence. She had loved to watch him walk through the room, loved to watch him command the attention of everyone around him, loved to watch him spar with his guards.

 _You were right beside me that day. You could have protected me._

Her hand went to the scar across her abdomen.

"You _want_ to kill me," he said in a silken voice.

She felt the pressure of tears.

 _I should have let Ibrahim take Ra'id…_

When he smirked at her, the room went dark in her vision until he was the only thing she could see. She strode toward him, drawing her left arm back—

Boots landed on the balcony.

"Aliyah!"

The sound of her name made her pause.

 _Aliyah._

 _Malik gave me that name._

 _Malik…_

The darkness receded and she straightened and turned toward the balcony as Ibrahim strode inside, an ominous half-shadow in the dim lamp-light.

"What has he told you?" Ibrahim asked.

"He sends the people they take to Acre," she replied, "to a man named Garnier at the Hospital."

Ra'id looked at her in alarm.

"You were always arrogant, Ra'id," she told him. "I can hardly fault you for that. Better men than you have fallen prey to that sin."

"Well, he shall be one less," Ibrahim said and looked expectantly at her.

She took a step back and spread her hands. "I was unkind earlier. I apologize."

Ibrahim hesitated, then nodded and stepped forward, flexing his wrist and plunging his hidden blade into Ra'id's throat before the man could draw the breath to cry out.

"How did you get inside?" Aliyah asked pulling up her hood as they walked toward the balcony.

Ibrahim paused in the doorway and pointed down at the wall. "Apparently, there is one distraction the guards will react to," he said.

Aliyah looked and saw the guards around the men she had killed outside the wall and felt a thrill of alarm.

 _How long have I been here?_

Suddenly, men were pounding on the door of the room and she spun, startled and ready to fight. Ibrahim tapped her on the shoulder and jerked his head up toward the roof and they started climbing up into the rain as the doors burst open. They waited a moment on the roof to see if the guards had seen them leaving the room.

Aliyah held her breath, waiting to hear that they were discovered and trying to control her trembling body.

 _What is wrong with me?_

Ibrahim touched her shoulder and when she met his eyes, the steadiness of her gaze eased the concern he'd felt since they were in the Bureau. He nodded toward a nearby roof and they ran for the edge. Aliyah leaped the gap as though her life depended on it and landed blindly, rain running into her eyes. Her mind kept wandering back to Ra'id's chamber and she was barely able to see where to put her feet. She focused on Ibrahim's back and followed his every move, blocking out every other sensation until even the downpour vanished from her awareness.

She wasn't prepared to reach the Bureau and her boots slid on the wet stone at the sound of Malik's voice. When she walked inside, the sudden warmth made her want to cry.

"Ra'id?" Malik asked.

Ibrahim looked back at Aliyah.

"Eliminated," she answered instantly.

Malik nodded and crossed the name off the list. As his Assassins began talking amongst themselves, he studied Aliyah. Her expression and voice were steady but deep in her eyes was an anxiety he had not seen in years and a tenseness around her mouth that betrayed her tenuous hold on her emotions.

 _Like the day she returned from killing Saamir._

Half-way through the numerous conversations, Aliyah slipped from the room and went to change into dry clothes. Her hands were still trembling and she felt as though she was going to be ill. As night settled over Jerusalem and the Bureau fell silent, her anxiety forced her from her bed. She crept through the rooms where the men slept and climbed out of the Bureau, afraid she would suffocate before she made it outside. The rain had stopped hours before, though clouds still blocked the stars. Her feet took her from the Bureau rooftop to another, then another with no clear destination.

Malik pulled himself up onto the Bureau rooftop and stood. The moon struggled to illuminate the earth through the clouds and his white robes caught the dim, gray light. He flexed his right hand and tried to ignore the left sleeve pinned to his side. The weight of his clothing and weapons was familiar and comforting even though his reasons for venturing out were not. He turned a slow circle and caught sight of Aliyah's white figure dodging from roof to roof. He followed, slowly at first then, as his body remembered how to move, faster until he was barely thinking about where to step. In spite of himself, he smiled.

He could still run the rooftops.

Aliyah climbed the tower and managed to pull herself over the top railing before she collapsed, her body heaving with dry sobs. The tower was old and unused, the basket of wood hanging above her once would have been burning brightly until the dawn. Now, it swayed heavily in the breeze, the metal pieces squeaking against each other. She sat up and leaned against the stone, unable to cry or catch her breath, the memories of the afternoon tormenting her viciously.

Suddenly, there was a soft step behind her and she spun, drawing her short blade and rearing back with her left hand.

"Peace, Aliyah. It is only me."

Her breath caught painfully in her throat and she swayed on her feet. "Malik?"

He stepped off the railing as the clouds dispersed and moonlight shone softly over Jerusalem and for a moment, she struggled to separate reality from memory. His white robes, hooded face and soft voice took her years back to the sands outside of Damascus and to the grotto outside of Masyaf, to a time when they were both whole and things might have been different.

"It is good to see you in those robes again," she said in a quaking voice.

"It feels good to be in them," he replied. "I was pleased to find that they still fit."

The joke only coaxed the tiniest lift of one corner of her mouth. His mouth tightened with concern.

"What happened today, Aliyah?" he asked. "Ra'id was eliminated, was he not?"

"He was," she answered and he heard the guarded undertone in her voice. "Talal sent the people to Acre, to a man named Garnier at the Hospital."

"What happened to you today?" he asked again gently. "Who was Ra'id?"

The relief she felt at the sight of him had released the tears that had refused to come and his voice was that of the man who had helped her understand the need for Saamir's execution.

"Ra'id…was…" she couldn't say it. She couldn't look away from him and she couldn't breathe for the pain in her chest. "He…he was…He was my husband!" The words left her in a choked rush.

Malik's mouth fell open in shock and he could see by the sudden slump in her posture that the confession had broken her. He stepped forward and pulled her against his chest as sobs racked her body.

"He was my husband!" she cried. "He was supposed to protect me! Even if he didn't love me! I was his _wife_!"

Her grief, her child-like plaintiveness pierced through him and he tightened his grip around her, pressing her forehead against his shoulder as his own throat constricted painfully.

 _I should have known. I should have known something was wrong._

 _You were always so serene._

"Which one of you killed Ra'id?" he asked gently and braced for the answer.

She drew in a shuddering breath. "Ibrahim," she replied. "I had thought…that I could…but then…"

"Aliyah, do not punish yourself for this," he begged, unable to bear her agony.

"I killed thirty Templars in Solomon's Temple for what they did to Kadar," her voice was still choked. "Why could I not kill Ra'id?"

"Tell me what happened," he said, suddenly suspicious that more had occurred than Ibrahim simply eliminating Aliyah's target. "Did Ibrahim kill Ra'id because you were unable or did he _prevent_ you from killing Ra'id?"

She shook her head, remembering the moment Ibrahim had called her name a mere moment before she would have killed Ra'id.

 _He did not stop me. You did._

"I let Ibrahim kill him" she said quietly.

Malik was silent for a moment, stunned by her confession.

 _So, you_ were _about to kill him…_

"Why did you stop?" he asked.

She closed her eyes as more hot tears streamed down her face.

 _Do not make me say it, Malik. Please, do not make me say it._

"Aliyah," he said her name and felt her wince, "why did you not kill Ra'id?"

She finally looked at him. "Because I _wanted_ to kill him," she answered, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I wanted to kill him and if I had…it—it would not have been clean. I wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to feel that pain. I—" she clenched her teeth to stop speaking.

Malik saw the shock he felt mirrored in her expression and along with it, he saw long-repressed anger, horror, fear, despair and shame.

"All this time," she whispered, dropping her eyes, "I never—never knew that…I _wanted_ that." A hopeless sound entered her voice. "So many things I thought I knew and now, I'm not sure of any of them. How could I not know that I wanted such a thing? Was this my true motivation all along?" She flexed her left hand unconsciously.

"I do not believe so," Malik told her.

"How do you know?" she asked plaintively and met his searching gaze fearfully.

"Because I know _you_ ," he replied. "Your intentions could never have been anything but pure."

She winced again and looked away.

 _Why do you keep using that word, Malik?_

"I feel as though I am responsible for this," he said. "I never realized that all this time, all these years, I never saw you grieving. I had always assumed that that time had passed when we found you. I should have asked. I should have questioned."

"I thought I had grieved all there was to grieve," she told him quietly.

He shook his head. "You were never freed from the torment long enough to grieve. And then, after we brought you to Masyaf, you devoted yourself so completely to discarding your past that you never allowed yourself to confront it."

Her tears slowed and her breathing steadied. "I did not want to relive those memories," she said and shuddered.

He tightened his hold on her once more, overwhelmed by his desire to protect her and the crushing reminder of his incapability.

I _should have been with you today,_ not _Ibrahim._

He rested his chin on top of her head. "There is something you must understand."

"What?" she asked weakly.

"The bond between a husband and wife is sacred," he told her. "Something that is meant to be unbreakable. For what he did to you, no one would expect you to live the rest of your life without ever having a thought toward vengeance. You did well today, allowing Ibrahim to take his life."

"If I had killed him, it would not have been justice," she replied. "From the beginning, I knew that personal vengeance had no place in the Brotherhood."

"You had your vengeance, Aliyah," he said. "He saw you today alive and well and strong and knew that his life was in your hands and when you chose not to take it, he knew it was not from weakness."

"I don't feel strong, Malik," she said in a small voice.

"Look at me, Aliyah," he said and she reluctantly raised her head. "There is darkness in all of us and anyone who denies this is a liar. We choose every day whether we will allow it to rule us or not."

"But if I was truly strong, I could have killed him without any consideration of the past," she said.

He placed his hand on her cheek and wiped away her last tear with his thumb. She closed her eyes, sealing the feel of his rough hand in her memory.

"There are things that…we may never overcome completely," he told her sadly.

She nodded slowly. "I don't know what I'm going to do," she said in a lost voice.

"First, come back home," he said, "and then we will determine what to do next."

She looked at him in surprise.

"Or, if you prefer," he began, "you can return to Masyaf and I will send a message to Al-Mualim."

"What will you tell him?" she asked with dread.

"I will tell him that you have become known in Jerusalem," he said, "and that, for your safety, I am assigning you elsewhere."

 _Return to the Bureau or return to Masyaf and I may only come back to Jerusalem briefly to carry out assignments. I either return with him or leave forever._

"I do not want to leave," she said. "But I cannot stay if I will place the others in danger."

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "I believe that you only place them in danger of how often they will have to work in the rain," he told her.

A breathy laugh escaped her and she smiled. "If I had killed Ra'id, would you believe differently?" she asked.

"I will not condemn you for desiring vengeance, because for months now, all I have desired is the life of the man responsible for my brother's death," he told and she saw the bitter anger spark in his eyes. Then, he had a sudden recollection. "What did you say?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"You said…that you…went to Solomon's Temple," he said, slowly remembering each word that he was certain she had never meant to say.

"I did," she answered. Though she had never meant for him to find out, she would not lie.

"I've heard rumors on the streets of Templar soldiers murdered in the caves," he said. "I've heard fifty men to one hundred men."

"Thirty," she said and there was a sudden firmness in her voice.

"Why?" he asked, shocked to hear the admission.

"Because the sun rose and I had an assignment to complete," she answered coldly.

He shook his head at her misunderstanding of his question and his inability to fathom her answer. "No, what made you go down there? What possessed you?"

She squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye unapologetically.

 _Now he knows what I did, there is no point in withholding the reason._

"They may have claimed Kadar's life that day," she began, her voice low and dangerous, "but I was not going to allow them to set foot on that ground and look at it as a battlefield on which they had won a victory. Now, when they go down to Solomon's Temple, they will do so with dread, as they should. Al-Mualim sent the three of you, because three was the number of men required to accomplish the task."

"The treasure was recovered," Malik told her. "The task was accomplished."

"The task was not accomplished!" she argued. "There was more to be done than retrieve the Apple. The task was for the three of you to retrieve the Apple and bring it to Al-Mualim while keeping the tenets of the Creed. But the three of you did not complete the assignment, only you did. Robert de Sable may have discovered all of you regardless of the care you took, but that day should never have ended with Kadar's body being left behind! And if the _three_ of you had accomplished the task, it would have been _their_ bodies instead of his. It _should_ have been their bodies." She gestured in the direction of the caves, angry tears shining in her eyes. "Thirty Templars as the price for his life may be the only justice Kadar ever receives and if killing a thousand more of them would return him to you, I would do it."

"As would I," Malik told her softly.

 _Though not if it required sacrificing you in the process._

In the face of her anger, he felt his own diminish. For the first time since that ill-fated day, he did not feel alone in his grief.

"But even ten thousand of them will not bring him back," he continued. "So, let us leave the number at thirty and perhaps, if we are lucky, the rumors will have a thousand dead before the year ends."

"Perhaps," she consented.

"Let us go," he said, nodding in the direction of the Bureau.

She nodded and stepped away, only then realizing how warm she had been while he held her and the familiar smell of his robes grew a little fainter as she stepped up onto the stone railing. "May I ask you a question?" she asked, suddenly hesitant.

"You may ask me anything," he replied.

"What made you put on your robes again?"

"We have been discovered before, and we may yet be again," he said after a moment. "In the event that prying eyes were keeping watch, I did not want it known that Jerusalem's Dai was out alone."

"I see," she replied and smiled softly. "Prudent."

Malik shrugged. "We shall see," he answered stepping up beside her and looking down at the hay cart far below.

She grinned slightly. "Shall I defer to rank?"

"As your superior, I insist you go first," he said, returning her grin with a mischievous one of his own. "It is common practice to send a novice to scout ahead."

She turned to face him and took hold of one of the vertical supports as her boots came dangerously close to the edge. "I'm not a novice anymore, Malik," she reminded him.

He cocked an eyebrow in a dubious expression. "So long as I am your superior, you are a novice."

She laughed and turned around. "Well, there are certainly worse things," she said and leaped, spreading her arms like a bird in flight.

Malik watched her fall and waited until she had landed and vanished into the shadows before shifting his weight forward. Looking down to gauge his fall, he suddenly felt as though a stone had settled in his stomach.

"Perhaps I am the novice," he muttered. Still, he leaped without further hesitation and found that the fall was more difficult than he'd expected. Without his left arm, he came dangerously close to spinning out of control and he landed harder than he'd planned. He winced and cursed under his breath as he stepped clear of the hay and made his way to where Aliyah was waiting.

"Are you alright?" she asked, concerned.

He nodded. "It's been some time," he said.

"I noticed no flaw in your fall," she said.

"It was a fall. That in itself is a flaw," he answered.

"That's right," she said with a comprehending lift of her head, "we're supposed to fly."

"I'm not so certain of _that_ ," he remarked dryly as they started walking.

 _Too often, you fail to realize how critical something is to your life until you no longer have it._

When they reached the Bureau, they climbed to the roof and dropped inside. Malik closed the lattice door with a metal tipped pole and locked it with a twist.

"Try to get some sleep," he told her. "We have work to do tomorrow."

She nodded and turned to leave, then paused. "Thank you, Malik," she whispered. At first, she wondered if he'd heard her, then, he looked at her and gave a single nod.

She settled into her bed and fell asleep instantly, emotionally exhausted.

Malik closed the door of his room and removed his robes and weapons. He folded the garments carefully and stowed everything in the chest at the foot of his bed. Before he closed the lid, he touched the fabric, longing for days past. Then, the events of the night came back to him.

 _Perhaps, Malik al-Sayf the Assassin of Masyaf and Malik al-Sayf the Dai of Jerusalem can become same man._

When Aliyah awoke the next morning, the sky was just beginning to lighten. However, when she looked around the room, she found that she was alone. As she made her way to the main room, she heard the murmur of low voices.

"What has happened?" she asked in concern, seeing the others up before the sun.

"Nothing of consequence," Ibrahim replied.

"But…why is everyone here?" she asked, confused. "Malik isn't even awake, yet."

"He most certainly is," Malik answered gruffly, striding into the room. "How do you suppose they managed to have food?"

She flushed in embarrassment. "Forgive me, Dai. I meant no disrespect."

"And the answer to your question," Malik continued, unrolling a map and weighing down its corners, "is that, after so many days of you rising with the sun, they have finally been shamed into a harder discipline."

She looked around the room in surprise and the men ducked their heads.

"This is true," Khadim muttered.

"Aliyah, I am observing the southern souk today," Ibrahim told her. "I would appreciate your help."

"Take Askari with you, Ibrahim," Malik said, unstopping his inkwells. "Aliyah is remaining behind today."

All movement ceased and the men looked up in surprise.

"Why?" Khadim asked.

Malik raised his eyes in a sharp look and Khadim raised a hand in apology.

"I do not mean to question, Dai," he said. "Has something happened?"

Malik finally stopped what he was doing and addressed them all. "Her target recognized her yesterday," he said and cast a significant glance at Ibrahim.

The Assassin's expression became concerned. "This is true," he answered. "Ra'id did seem to know her."

"How is that possible?" Khadim asked worriedly.

Malik shook his head. "Who can say? But until I am sure he was the only one, I am keeping her off the streets, at least for today."

The men nodded and grumbled their agreement. As they began to leave, apprehension slowly knotted Aliyah's stomach.

"Do you not trust me outside, Malik?" she asked once they were alone.

He met her gaze, noticing her pale complexion and anxious expression. "I trust you the most of them all," he answered steadily. "Would you prefer to be out today?"

"It is not my decision," she replied carefully, feeling suddenly ill.

"Do not play words with me, Aliyah," he told her. "Was I wrong in presuming that you would rather not be on the streets today?"

"No," she said slowly and he could see the previous day's events playing through her mind. "But if I sit idly, I shall go mad."

"I have no intention of letting you sit idle," he replied and motioned her over. As she stepped up to the table, he pushed an inkwell and pen toward her. "Write what I tell you."

A warmth bloomed in her core, pushing back her unease and she selected a piece of paper. "Of course," she answered and dipped her pen.

"With any luck, we may finish this today," he said and began calling out his measurements and specific corrections he needed to make.

As they worked, the sound of his voice soothed her scoured spirit and soon, she was focused on little else.

 _He's forgiven me for what happened yesterday. Everything will be fine, now._

Malik watched her closely, his face lined with concern. However, as time went by, her face regained its warm color and she relaxed her white-knuckled grip on her pen.

 _This is the only way I can protect you, Aliyah. I cannot run the rooftops with you and I cannot keep you locked away inside the Bureau but, at least today, I will know you are alright._

After several hours, Aliyah straightened and stretched with a groan as the muscles in her back cramped painfully.

"Imagine doing this every day," Malik said with a chuckle.

"I will happily trade places with you," she answered with a tired grin.

He looked at her in surprise. "You can draw maps, as well?"

She blinked at him, surprised herself. "What? Oh!" she laughed. "No, I meant…"

"Ah," Malik nodded his understanding. "I may accept your offer one day."

"Is this what you spend all of your days doing?" she asked after a moment of companionable silence, broken only by the scratching of Malik's pen as he marked the map according to the notes she had taken.

"Not entirely," he answered. "I still maintain many of my training habits."

"I've yet to see you spar with any of the men," she said in confusion.

"That…I do not do," he confessed and his tone discouraged further discussion.

"I am surprised," she said. "You emphasized it so strongly when you were training me."

"I knew what you would face as a novice," he replied. "I did everything I could to prepare you."

"I know," she told him. "I succeeded because of you."

He scoffed at that. "You don't credit yourself enough and you credit me far too much."

"Why did you never spar with the novices?" she asked. "So many of the other Assassins would, but never you."

"Because," he said, dipping his pen, "I would have had to spar with Abdul at some time and the boy might not have survived that encounter. Just the same, I would have been forced to spar with you and my bias might have been revealed. Hand me that scroll."

"I see," she said, not moving. "But you haven't answered my question."

"Which question was that?"

"Why don't you spar with the men?"

"You never asked me _that_ ," he told her. "I tried in the past but…they acted as though they were afraid of hurting me. I know _I_ was insulted and I can only imagine that they were, as well. The scroll?"

"I cannot imagine them being insulted at all," she said, ignoring his request. "But I can easily imagine them being genuinely concerned."

"I lost an arm and that makes me fragile, does it?" he asked caustically.

"Does it?" she asked in return.

He straightened abruptly and looked down at her. "No," he answered, clearly offended.

"They do not know that," she pointed out. "But I can also imagine that if you had struck them like you are capable of doing, they would have quickly changed their minds."

"What are you saying?" he asked, looking past her to the scroll he needed.

"If you believe that they are afraid of harming you, then they need to be shown you cannot be harmed," she said, shifting her position so that he would have to push past her to get to the shelf.

"Hmmm, that may be," he said thoughtfully, and picked up his pen again, deciding that he would get the scroll later.

"I feel as though I owe you," she said, finally getting the scroll from the shelf.

"For what?" he asked in surprise and reflexively reached for it.

"Every bruise," she answered, tightening her hold on it so that he couldn't pick it up. "Every cut. Every night I laid awake dreaming of sleep."

He turned and propped against the table, frowning at her. "You," he began slowly, "are trying to provoke me."

"Yes," she answered simply, "I am."

He rolled his eyes in exasperation and shook his head at her. "Fine!" he said, capping his inkwell. "If it will satisfy you and let us get back to work. I have too much to do to waste any more time with this nonsense."

She smiled at his back as she followed him away from the table.

 _Nonsense, is it?_

He shrugged out of his black robe and hung it on the wall. When she stood across from him, he shook his head again.

"Come on, then," he told her wearily and then leaped back with startled cry when she lashed out with a vicious kick, her boot just missing his chest.

The surprise never left his expression, but when she saw a serious light come into his eyes, Aliyah took a defensive stance. He turned side-on to her, ready for her next attack but he continued to look at her in disbelief. Just like her first night in the grotto, she aimed a jab toward his face and when he blocked it, she drove her left hand toward his ribs. He twisted out of the way, gripping her wrist and dragging her with him. Before he could pin her arm behind her back, she spun and drove her knee into his side. He released her arm and knocked the strike away but she was free and attacked again.

Malik finally overcame his shock, his instincts took hold and before he realized it, he countered her attack with one of his own, aware that if he were to actually strike her, he would break bones.

 _I do not want to hurt you, Aliyah!_

Without his left arm, he was at a significant disadvantage and he feared that he would hurt her accidentally. The last fight he had been in had been down in Solomon's Temple.

 _I've never fought without my left arm before._

Desperation crept into his mind as she continued to force him to defend himself.

 _I am an Assassin! I can still fight!_

As she came at him again, he knocked her fist away and slammed his forearm across her chest, winding her and knocking her back almost to the far wall. Horrified, he listened to her gasp for air and watched as she staggered, trying to keep her balance.

"Enough?" he asked.

 _Please, stop this, Aliyah. If I hurt you, I will never forgive myself._

She shook her head once and extended her hidden blade. Malik's eyes widened in alarm and he hastily drew a dagger as she rushed him. As he dodged her blade, he almost missed the dagger in her right hand. For a full minute, she attacked him, forcing him to dodge and retreat.

 _I finally saw you again last night, Malik. I need to see it once more, even if I have to bleed for it._

She lashed out with a vicious slice and he blocked it with his dagger, metal screeching against metal.

 _You wear the robes of a Dai, but you will forever be an Assassin!_

She nearly had him backed against the wall and he had yet to fight back.

 _I need to see him, Malik! I need to see the man who took me from Damascus!_

Suddenly, faster than her eye could follow, he spun, grasped her wrist and disarmed her. As he dropped the dagger, there was a sharpness in his eyes that both thrilled and unnerved her.

 _There he is._

She had never forgotten how fast he could move, but she realized with a guilty pang that she had actually expected him to have lost some of that speed. Nothing could have been farther from the truth. As he went on the attack, she barely dodged his first two strikes and could hear the metal sing as it passed by her head. After that moment, neither of them gave ground and the only sounds in the Bureau were the scuff of boots on the stone floor and grunts of effort.

Suddenly, in an explosive movement, he turned, drove his fist toward her ribs and prepared for her to dodge. When she spun away from him, he caught her with a kick that sent her staggering toward the wall. As she reached out to catch herself, he was on her and pinned her left arm behind her back with his knee before she could react and slammed his dagger into the wall between her fingers. A startled gasp escaped her and she expected to see blood running over her hand.

 _He missed…_

"Do you remember," he began breathlessly, "the day I told you…that you were faster than I am?"

"I remember denying it," she answered, struggling to breathe against the wall.

"Denial does not change the truth," he told her. "You have only become faster since that day."

She laughed. "Yet, here I am."

"I knew how you would react," he said, pulling his dagger from the wall and stepping back. "I may have never sparred with you as a novice, but I watched you train whenever I was in Masyaf."

She faced him, wiping grit from the wall off her face and flexed her right hand nervously.

"I said I no longer sparred," he told her, a look of fierce pride in his eyes. "I never said I neglected my blade-work." He wiped sweat from his forehead.

"I am thankful for that," she said with nervous laugh and he saw that her hands were trembling. "Now, if only Al-Mualim would send Abdul to Jerusalem."

Malik gave a bark of laughter. "If only he would," he agreed darkly.

"Malik?" she queried in a worried tone.

"All that time," he said, tugging on his black robe, "I was forced to listen to every insult, every vile description, every threat, and I could do nothing."

"He never harmed me," she told him. "I cannot understand why you still hold that against him."

"I cannot understand why you do not," he replied.

"I suppose, I never heard anything said that was not true," she answered quietly.

" _Everything_ he said was untrue," Malik argued hotly.

" _Nothing_ he said was untrue," she argued but her voice was weakening. "Nothing he said had not already been said a thousand times before, that I was a—"

" _Do not_ say it!" Malik slammed his hand down on the table. "I will not hear it again! Not from anyone else and certainly not from you!"

"Denial does not change the truth," she told him quietly.

His eyes smoldered. "Do not twist my words."

"Why do you refuse to accept it?" she demanded, her voice cracking.

"Why do you cling to it?" he countered. "You had left it behind!" He saw the defeat in her eyes and the heat of his anger turned to ice. "What exactly did Ra'id say to you?"

She shut her eyes against the pain the name caused and shook her head.

Malik fell silent, suddenly understanding. Nothing Ra'id said could have hurt her, his mere presence had been the singularly most damaging thing that could have ever happened to her.

"Ra'id is dead," he told her gently, hating himself for raising his voice to her. "Your honor is reclaimed."

A short, bitter laugh escaped her and tears slid down her cheeks. "Yes, Ra'id had me, Malik," she said acidly. "As did half the men in Salah al-Din's and Richard's armies! Do _not_ speak to me of reclaimed honor! A thousand deaths will not return it to me," her voice choked off.

"Let me find their names and that will no longer be so," he replied dangerously.

"To what end, Malik?" she asked, all her anger replaced by despair. "A broken bottle may have the ability to kill a man, but no one will deny that it is forever ruined."

 _Broken. She was broken when we found her, unable to even speak at first. Did she ever heal? Did I fool myself into believing that she had? Or did encountering Ra'id shatter her again?_

She covered her face with hands and began sobbing. "I stayed, Malik! I _stayed_! Why could I not escape?" she cried, remembering all the times she had tried…and failed.

Malik covered the distance between them in two strides, knowing he was witnessing a war between her past, present and future and terrified of what the outcome might be.

"Aliyah, look at me," he said and when she shook her head in refusal, he crooked his finger under her chin. "You remember yourself as you were then, and at the same time, you see yourself as you are now. You did not possess these capabilities then. The woman they held captive could not have caused me pain if her life had depended on it. You survived and you are alive."

She looked at him in horror. "I…hurt…you?"

"It's only a bruise," he assured her hurriedly.

"I—"

"Stop," he said. "Do not think about it anymore. I forbid it."

She found that amusing and huffed a laugh.

"You have a purpose," he told her, willing her to believe it.

"Yes, so he told me," she said despairingly.

"You were barely more than a child," he said vehemently. "And always meant to be protected. He discarded you without thought and I will not have you define yourself by another's actions. _Especially_ not his."

"Discarded because I had no value," she said hoarsely. "I never did. I was only ever meant to be my father's signature on a contract."

"I do not believe that," he told her.

She finally looked him in the eye, then and he saw, with relief, a small amount of peace return to her. Her eyes cleared and she seemed to settle more firmly on her feet.

 _Why do you think I have value, Malik? Why do you trust me above the others?_

He would never know that his good opinion was all that mattered to her. As long as she had his approval, she needed nothing else.

 _I desire so much more, but that is all I need to exist._

"This is why I kept you behind today," he explained. "I needed to see that you were alright."

"I'm not alright, Malik," she said quietly. "But…I think I will be."

"You will be," he assured her. "You are strong, regardless of how shaken you feel."

She managed to give him a weak smile and nodded.

"Come with me," he said and led her over to the table. He pulled two more maps from the shelves, as well as the scroll he had needed earlier and weighed down their corners. "Over here," he said, nudging her over and thrusting a pen into her hand.

"You're going to show me how to make a map?" she asked, curious and excited.

"No," he said. "Would you like to learn?"

"Yes, I—I would," she answered hesitantly. "But, what exactly are you showing me, then?"

"Did you choose to not kill Ra'id?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered, forcing her voice to be steady.

"Do you remember the day I told you how I knew you were alive?"

She suddenly felt warmth spread through her body as she realized where he was leading the conversation. "Yes," she said and remembered also why she loved this man so deeply. "What did you want to show me, Malik?"

"Definite evidence of life," he said with a warm smile.

She smiled as well and nodded, dipping her pen into the ink.

"Mark here," he said, pointing to a place on the map.

"What if I make a mistake?" she asked.

"Then you will correct it," he replied magnanimously.

"But the map will be ruined," she protested.

"By that definition, so is that post," he said, jerking his thumb toward the vertical support that bore the scars of his knife practice.

"I see," she said softly, and marked the map with a shaky hand.

"Mark here," he pointed to another spot.

She did so. "Did I really hurt you?" she asked worriedly.

"No," he lied as he touched the bruise in his side to the edge of the table. "Mark here."

She hesitated. "Would you tell me if I had?"

"Probably not," he replied.

"Malik—"

"Stop asking questions, Novice, and do as I say."

She smiled shyly at his rebuke. "Yes, Dai," she said and marked the map.

He nodded approvingly. "And here…"

* * *

Yes, again, Malik is a boss. I'm gonna turn that into a hashtag before this over, I swear :)


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: Okay, so I didn't get this finished as quickly as I wanted but here it is and I've started the next one already. Fingers crossed! Semi-familiar territory here and laying some more groundwork. It's briefly mentioned how people suspected Majd Addin rose to power so I decided to build that a little and I'm not gonna talk about the groundwork laying because I don't want to post spoilers :)

Shoutout to MessyInk! Thank you so much for reviewing! I'm really happy you liked that chapter so much :)

Shoutout to FirstPassageTime! I am sososososo sorry I missed doing this when you reviewed! Thank you so much! I hope you're still reading and enjoying!

A/N: Sorry, guys, it's corrected re-upload so don't get too excited. Still working on the next fresh one, promise, and it should be up soon.

* * *

Two months later…

The Assassins ate their breakfast in the dim light of the early morning, speaking quietly and only briefly. They looked up at the soft creak of Malik's door and watched him expectantly as he entered the room.

"What would you have us do, Dai?" Khadim asked softly, as though he feared being overheard.

Malik sighed, exhaustion and frustration etched in across his face. "Watch and listen and report what you learn to me," he answered.

"How long will this continue?" Ibrahim asked darkly. "How long will we _allow_ it to continue?"

The others held their breath, waiting for Malik's rebuke.

"It is not our place to act alone," Malik told him. "Al-Mualim—"

"Al-Mualim does not know what is happening here!" Ibrahim exclaimed hoarsely.

Malik fixed him with a cautioning look. "Do you think I hoard your reports, Ibrahim?" he asked, holding the younger man in his gaze until Ibrahim dropped his eyes. "Everything you learn, Al-Mualim hears."

"Are we to only watch and listen, then?" Aliyah asked quietly, her voice carefully neutral.

Malik met her eyes and saw the dark thoughts running through her mind. "I do not expect you to cease performing your duties as you always have," he addressed the group of dismal Assassins. "What I do expect, is for you to be cautious. I cannot afford to lose any of you to Majd Addin's bloodlust. For now, until we are instructed otherwise, we watch, listen and endure."

"There must be something more we can do," Khadim said. "If nothing is done, Majd Addin will ensure that Jerusalem's streets are bathed in blood."

"Find out how he gained his power," Malik instructed. "Perhaps, he has enemies we can gain the attention of. Perhaps, he has usurped the authority of another and has a master that should be made aware of his transgression. Find out who will replace him if he is removed. You are Assassins. We are not meant to _cower_ in the shadows, regardless of how ruthless those who rule the land are."

The men nodded and growled in agreement.

"And should it happen that we find Majd Addin alone?" Aliyah asked, fingering the tip of one of her throwing knives.

Malik looked at her. "Then, I would expect that Jerusalem will owe you a great debt," he replied.

She nodded once, satisfied and rose to leave. The others followed her silently.

Malik drew the breath to call Ibrahim back, then clenched his teeth together until the Assassin was gone. He had kept Aliyah in the Bureau for as long as he could after the incident with Ra'id without the others becoming suspicious. She was one of the best among them and to shelter her any longer risked undermining what she had worked so hard to achieve. In spite of this, Malik's first instinct for nearly the last two months had been to assign one of the men to shadow her and Ibrahim was always his first choice. And so, each day, he held his tongue until the Bureau was empty.

He sighed in frustration and reached up to gather the materials he needed.

 _She would never forgive me if I gave such an order. And she is more than capable of protecting herself. She assassinated Saamir when no one else could and dozens of targets since._

He turned back to the table and his gaze fell on the notes she had taken for him. The Bureau felt empty without her.

* * *

Ibrahim climbed to the roof, looked around for Aliyah and realized she was gone. He made his way across the rooftops, heading for the Middle District. He found her in the ruined upper room of a collapsing home overlooking the souk.

Aliyah stood in the shadows, watching Majd Addin parade through souk with his guards as though he were Salah al-Din himself. Her fingers brushed the hilt of one of her throwing knives. The man was out of range of her throw. She had made sure of that, unwilling to risk disobeying Malik's orders. At the sound of footsteps, she extended her hidden blade.

"Peace, Sister," Ibrahim said, dropping in through the jagged hole in the roof.

She turned her head just enough to acknowledge him and focused on the street once more. "He is an animal," she said softly. "He should be put down as one."

"Jerusalem agrees with you," Ibrahim replied, coming up beside her.

She watched in silence until Majd Addin was out of sight, then, she dropped through the ruined floor and stepped into the dim alley just as the sun rose, bathing Jerusalem in its golden light. She heaved a deep sigh, the beautiful sight easing her spirits.

 _Perhaps, today will be quiet. Perhaps, he will still be satisfied from yesterday and no one will die._

Ibrahim stepped out, as well, his hood concealed his eyes, leaving only the grim line of his mouth to let her know he was having similar thoughts.

"Where are you assigned today?" she asked.

"He did not assign any of us to a specific place," he answered.

She clenched her teeth to avoid giving him a caustic reply. Malik had given him _her_ as his assignment, he would not have come looking for her otherwise. Then, her aggravation subsided and she accepted Malik's decision, unwanted though it was.

 _Ibrahim has far more important matters he should see to. I am not one of them._

She started walking, keeping to the shadows, following the street Majd Addin had taken. She stopped at a well near a merchant who was selling grapes to Jerusalem's tyrant.

"Are you certain this is wise?" Ibrahim asked from the shadow of a tree.

She ignored him and sat on a bench, listening to Majd Addin terrorize the poor man into _giving_ him the grapes.

"I keep you safe!" Majd Addin shouted. "At the very least, I expect gratitude!"

"Yes, of course," the man groveled, fearing for his life. "Please, take all of them, it _is_ the least I can do!"

"Then, perhaps, you should do more!" Majd Addin told him and man paled at the words.

"Tell me what I must do!" he said, falling to his knees. "What must I do to prove my gratitude?"

Aliyah clenched her fists as she listened to Majd Addin suddenly adopt a benevolent demeanor.

"Aliyah," Ibrahim hissed.

She raised her eyes in reply and he jerked his head toward the alley behind him. When Majd Addin grew bored with the merchant and walked away with his guards carrying each grape cluster the man had to sell, she rose and stepped into the shadows with Ibrahim.

"This is not wise," he warned her. "We all want to see justice done but we must be careful. Askari and Dabir were recognized in the Rich District just last week."

"I know," she replied. The men had barely made it back to the Bureau after rescuing a man and woman from Majd Addin's guards, thereby securing a place for themselves in the executions scheduled for that day. She looked back at the distraught merchant. "He will not escape Majd Addin after today," she said heavily.

"I think he will fare better than most," Ibrahim replied. "That much groveling might have convinced the Devil to grant him another day of life."

Aliyah said nothing. She had seen the bloodthirsty gleam in the tyrant's eyes.

 _He had been so close. All it would have taken was one dagger and this terror would have ended today._

She pulled a cloak and sash from the satchel she wore and covered her robes and the lower half of her face. Then, she left the alley and caught up to Majd Addin, following just close enough to cut the purse off the belt of the rear guard. As she stepped into another side street, Ibrahim was waiting for her, sputtering with shock.

"Here," she handed him the purse. "Come with me."

He grabbed her arm before she could leave. "What are you going to do?" he demanded.

" _I_ am not going to do anything," she told him smugly. " _You_ are."

His eyes widened in surprise, then, when she gestured back toward the merchant, he nodded and they headed down the street.

"No use, no use," the man moaned when he saw Ibrahim approaching. "I have nothing to sell today and will have nothing to sell tomorrow."

"Actually, I believe I have something that belongs to you," Ibrahim said, stepping close to the man's table and quietly revealing the purse.

The man's eyes widened with panic, but he hesitated to refuse, worried that any such display would attract the attention of the guards.

"Is this not _yours_?" Ibrahim asked meaningfully.

"Well, y-yes, it is," the man stammered. "I cannot believe I misplaced such a thing. How did you find it?"

Ibrahim gestured to Aliyah standing behind him. "She has a keen eye."

"Ah, like any wife, eh?" the man laughed, missing the glare she cast at Ibrahim's back. "I thank you, sir. I shall take better care in the future. Come back tomorrow, eh? Perhaps I will have something to repay your kindness."

"We shall," Ibrahim said warmly and walked away. When they were out of sight of the merchant, they took shelter in the shadows of another alley. As Aliyah walked past Ibrahim, she stomped down on his foot.

He bit back a curse and took a limping half-step back. "What?" he demanded hotly.

"You were not supposed to implicate me!" she hissed angrily.

"What you did was foolish," he told her sharply. "And I never said I would participate willingly."

"You never _said_ you would participate at all," she snapped. "And the next time we see a man whose family is going to die the slow death of starvation because a tyrant robs him of his goods, _you_ can decide what to do about it."

He opened his mouth to argue, and closed it just as quickly. "I am sure I would not have reacted differently," he said at last.

His answer mollified her anger and she looked past him at the people filling the souk. "Jerusalem has fallen silent these past few weeks, it seems," she commented.

"They are afraid to even speak his name too loudly," Ibrahim replied. "We will simply have to listen more closely."

She removed her cloak and climbed to a roof. "I had never heard of Majd Addin until he came to power in Jerusalem," she said once Ibrahim stood beside her. "Had you?"

"No," he answered.

"How many men came before him?" she asked, counting them silently, her mind suddenly working furiously.

"Five," Ibrahim replied, eyeing her curiously. "Akram Malouf, Ismael Hassan, Yusuf and Saleem Salib and Abd al-Hakim"

"Akram Malouf was an old man," Aliyah commented. "His death was no surprise and many men would prefer to die in their sleep."

"Ismael Hassan died after serving a banquet to celebrate his ascension," Ibrahim said. "A tainted catch of fish."

"Yusuf Salib died at that banquet, as well," Aliyah said thoughtfully.

"As did his brother," Ibrahim added, his voice soft with realization.

"And Abd al-Hakim broke his neck when he fell down the stairs," Aliyah said.

"I remember," Ibrahim nodded. "They said he was drunk."

"They also said that he fell," Aliyah pointed out, her voice dark with suspicion.

Ibrahim opened his mouth to reply, then spun at the sound of footsteps and armor. He jerked his head toward a rooftop garden and they ducked inside it just as an archer came around to the place they had been.

"So, that is the sequence of events that led to Majd Addin becoming Jerusalem's leader," Aliyah said quietly, crouching and ready to spring out should the guard discover them.

"A series of accidents that set a monster loose," Ibrahim replied, dropping to one knee. "If they were indeed accidents."

Aliyah peeked through the curtains as the sound of boots grew louder for a moment. "Perhaps, we have been listening to the wrong things," she said as the archer moved away. "No one will speak openly of Majd Addin, but perhaps they still speak of his predecessors."

"Perhaps," Ibrahim agreed, careful not to show his pleasure, nor his relief, at the change in her demeanor. Her dark, quiet mood since the assassination of Ra'id ibn Sabir had concerned him.

 _She is coming back to life._

"His guards may be the most talkative," he added thoughtfully.

She scoffed, almost snarling in disgust. "I despise Majd Addin, but the men guarding him are little better. They outnumber him so greatly and yet, at best, they stand by idly while he murders for amusement."

"Some of them may be good men," Ibrahim cautioned.

"Good men do not watch while monsters commit atrocities," she replied shortly.

 _Malik is a good man. You are a good man. Let the others measure themselves by that._

"Aliyah, those good men, what choice do they have?" Ibrahim asked.

"They can fight back," she answered. "If every good man forced to guard him refused to do so, he would not survive a day in his own house, much less the streets."

"And what of their families? Can you imagine the atrocities Majd Addin would force those men to witness before he ended their lives?"

A chill settled in her stomach. "Yes, Ibrahim, I can imagine perfectly," she said in a low voice and he flinched. "For those reasons, those men will never fight back. Instead, they live their lives and wait for the day Majd Addin takes their wives and daughters and sons and does what he pleases with them, regardless of how faithfully they guard him. That is the future that awaits them as long as Majd Addin is alive."

"Do you think they are unaware of this?" Ibrahim asked.

"I think they live in willful ignorance," she replied. "Because if they were to ever acknowledge the threat, they would be forced into action."

Ibrahim nodded. "I believe you are right. But then, where would we be?" he said with a small smile.

"Watching and listening to things other than the daily murder of innocents," she answered.

Ibrahim stood. "Let us go and try put a stop to that, then."

They waited until the guard walked out of sight and left their shelter, leaping to another rooftop.

"Help! Someone help me! Please!"

They slid to a stop at the cry and sprinted in the direction of the voice. Several of Majd Addin's guards were robbing and beating an old man.

"I beg you, have mercy! I haven't eaten in three days!"

"And so you chose thievery," one of the men said, sneering down at the cowering man and tucking the tiny purse into his belt. "Majd Addin tolerates no violation of the law!"

The old man paled further and held his hands in a silent plea.

One of the guards closed his eyes and looked away with a grieved expression.

Ibrahim dropped to the street. "This one will not stand on Majd Addin's stage," he said coldly.

The guards spun, then, only seeing one man, laughed.

"You can join him, then!" the one who took the purse announced. His laughter ended in a choked gurgle as a knife buried itself in his throat.

The others watched him collapse, then looked back at Ibrahim and realized he had not moved. Then, Aliyah dropped to the ground beside him.

"Kill them!" one of them shouted and they charged.

Ibrahim drew his sword and Aliyah drew her short blade. He ran the first guard through and Aliyah spun around the two men to slit the throat of another. As she stabbed one of the men through the back of his neck, Ibrahim ran another guard through the back before he could decapitate her. Then, he flung a knife at one and she drove her hidden blade through the throat of the last man.

"Here," Aliyah said, taking the purse from the guard's belt and giving back to the old man. "Go before more guards come."

"Oh, thank you!" he exclaimed breathlessly and began backing away. "Bless you both for your kindness."

The knife that Ibrahim had thrown had pierced deep into the guard's leg. His breathing was ragged and he groaned with every movement as he tried to rise. Ibrahim approached him like a stalking predator, extending his hidden blade.

"No…no, wait!" the man began to plead, his tears mixing with the sweat running down his face. "No! Please, I beg you have mercy! I have a family!"

Ibrahim did not slow his approach and the man sank back onto one elbow, reaching out desperately in a vain attempt to prevent his death.

"I have a family!" he said again, his voice cracking. "I have a son and my wife is with child!"

Ibrahim stood over him and drew back his hand.

"Wait, Ibrahim," Aliyah said quietly. "He looked away. Why did you look away?" she asked the guard.

He shook his head. "I could…could not stop them, but I did not wish to watch them."

"Coward," Ibrahim spat.

"How did Majd Addin come to power?" Aliyah asked.

"He acquired his power in the same manner by which he keeps it," the guard answered. "Bloodshed."

"So, he did murder his predecessors," Ibrahim confirmed.

The man nodded.

"And you think that because you guard him, you are protected?" Ibrahim demanded.

"As long as I serve him, I live," the man said dismally.

Ibrahim knelt down and the man held his breath fearfully, only to expel it in a cry of pain with the Assassin pulled the blade from his leg.

"Return home," Ibrahim told him. "We have no interest in your life today."

"If I desert my post, my captain will execute me," the man said.

Ibrahim looked meaningfully at the bodies. "You are the only survivor, I am sure he will consider that."

The man nodded. "I will tell him that we were attacked…that I barely escaped with my life."

"Wait," Ibrahim said as the man started to struggle to his feet. "The best lies possess a small truth," he said and seized the man's throat and extended his blade.

Aliyah's shocked gasp echoed the man's as he fell to his knees and collapsed onto his side, clutching his throat, blood pouring over his fingers.

"I…I live," he said in a stunned voice when he realized that the blade hadn't pierced his throat.

"When the day comes," Ibrahim began, his voice cold with contempt, "that Majd Addin drags your family onto his stage to satisfy his bloodlust, you will only have yourself to blame."

"I am only one man!" he answered desperately.

"I wonder how many more men like you are guarding this beast because they believe they are 'only one man'," Aliyah said coldly.

The man looked down in shame and as Ibrahim strode past him, he flinched away as the corner of the Assassin's robe brushed his face.

"Killing Majd Addin will do no good," he said quietly before Aliyah could walk by him as well.

"Why do you say that?" she asked.

"He has three lieutenants," the guard told her, groaning in pain. "All of them ruthless men. He has them quartered, one in each district, like chaining up dogs to keep them from killing each other."

 _One in each district?_

"I am aware of his lieutenants," Aliyah replied, hiding her interest behind cool disdain. "As is all of Jerusalem. Why do you speak of this as though it were significant?"

"Majd Addin is not the only man who craves violence and bloodshed," he answered. "You see, it is not Majd Addin I guard, but the lieutenant he houses in this district. When Akram Malouf ruled Jerusalem, I was a trusted captain in the guard. Now, always there are men near my house. There to protect my family, I am told, but every day I fear what I will find when I return."

Aliyah turned at the sound boots and saw shadows playing across the street and buildings as a patrol approached.

"Do not move," she told him. "Let them find you like this." She strode down the street on her right and stood on the edge of a group of white-robed men as they discussed one passage of scripture or another.

"What happened here?" she heard a man demand, angry and horrified.

"They came out of nowhere," the wounded guard answered weakly. "…attacked us…."

"Who were they?" the other man demanded.

"We could not see their faces…"

"Take him to a doctor," she heard the man order. "When he awakens, I want to know everything that happened."

As soon as she heard their footsteps fade away, she slipped from the group and forced herself to move quietly through the crowds. Suddenly, Ibrahim stepped in front of her and went down a side street. Aliyah turned down the next street she came to and met Ibrahim in the shade of a courtyard by the well.

"Why did you linger?" he asked.

"Majd Addin has three lieutenants in Jerusalem," she told him. "If we eliminate him, they will tear Jerusalem apart in their desire to control it."

"So, are we powerless then?" he asked.

"I do not want to think so," she answered. "Not yet. We need to find these men."

"Did he give you names?"

"No," she shook her head. "He was not able to."

Ibrahim turned away, hissing in frustration.

"But," Aliyah began, "he did say that he had been a captain in the guard when name ruled Jerusalem."

"Well, now he is nothing," Ibrahim replied in exasperation.

"He said that each lieutenant is housed in a different district," she went on. "He was charged with guarding the one in this district."

Ibrahim narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, his interest piqued. "Perhaps, we have been listening for the wrong names."

"Perhaps, these are names Jerusalem is more willing to speak aloud," she agreed.

He grinned, eager to begin. Then, a terrified scream pierced the air and stopped abruptly. Before the echo died, Aliyah was sprinting toward the sound. A girl no older than fifteen was surrounded by eight leering men. One gripped a fistful of her hair while another shoved a rag into her mouth as tears streamed down her cheeks. Aliyah flung a knife into the first man's face and launched herself over the low, courtyard wall, slamming into another man with both feet, sending him staggering into the blade of yet another. The hysterical girl fell to her knees, clutching her ripped clothing as the man who had held her collapsed in a spray of blood.

Aliyah only saw the movement of the men and reacted to each one without conscious thought. A knee between the legs, a thrown knife, a slit throat, a shattered nose, short blade through the back of a skull, broken legs, hidden blade through a heart, a dagger through a throat. Then, there was silence, save for the groaning of one survivor who lay curled on his side on the ground, desperately trying to stop the profuse bleeding from his stomach.

"I need a doctor," he moaned, blood seeping between his lips.

"A doctor will not be able to save you," Ibrahim told him. "Even if one was here now."

Aliyah knelt by the terrified girl and pulled the rag from her mouth. "There, you're safe," she promised as the girl gagged and sobbed. "Did any escape?" she asked Ibrahim.

He scoffed a laugh. "No."

"Are you sure?" she asked, untying the girl's hands and pulling her to her feet.

"Quite sure," he answered dryly. "Those two tried," he pointed to two men lying face down in the filth with knives in the backs of their necks. "But those are the only ones."

"The only ones who tried?"

"Others tried, but those were the only two _I_ killed," he said.

Aliyah looked around at the bodies in surprise.

"Please, I need a doctor!" the man cried weakly.

Ibrahim looked at him then and even Aliyah was startled to see the chill in his dark eyes. He walked over and picked up the rag Aliyah had dropped and strode over to the man.

"You're the one shoved this down her throat," he said dangerously.

"I'll die!" the man whimpered pitifully.

"You'll die regardless of who stands over you," Ibrahim snarled and grabbed the man by his shirt and flipped him onto his back. The man wailed in agony and Ibrahim stuffed the rag into his mouth. "If that girl didn't get the luxury of screaming, neither do you. Do you recognize him?" he asked Aliyah.

The question stunned her. "No," she answered, confused.

He nodded and plunged his hidden blade into the man's heart.

 _A fortunate turn for you, you animal. If she had known you, I would have made sure you lasted the night, at least._

Aliyah covered the girl in her cloak and scarf and froze at the sight of the mark on the back of her hand.

"You see?" the girl whispered through her tears. "I was not worth saving."

"Never say that," Aliyah told her fiercely. "Never. It is a vicious lie we tell ourselves because we can think of no other way to keep living. Never believe it."

The girl looked at her in shock.

Aliyah scooped up some of the damp dirt, forced herself not to think of why it was wet, and smeared it on the girl's hands.

"In the souk, there is an old man. He is selling many things but above his table, you will see dried, purple flowers hanging. Give him this," Aliyah pressed a silver piece into her hand, "and tell him that his sister sent you. He will take care of you."

The girl hung her head. "I have heard those words so many times."

Aliyah cupped her cheeks. "I know," she said, her eyes stinging with tears. "I know." She kissed the girl's forehead. "Go, and be safe. Do not run and do not look back."

"What was that mark on her hand?" Ibrahim asked quietly once the girl was gone.

"It identified the brothel that owned her," Aliyah answered.

Unthinkingly, his eyes fell to her hands.

"I was never marked, Ibrahim," she told him. "I was only ever privately owned."

He cringed at his thoughtlessness. "Forgive me, Aliyah," he begged. "I did not…I would never…" he stopped talking.

"I know," she told him.

"Thank God she screamed," he said, relieved that she had forgiven his blunder. "We would not have found her, otherwise."

She shook her head. "If only it were that simple," she said sadly. "She screamed, because she still had the strength to fight. Sooner or later, you learn to stop screaming because it only makes it worse, because they won't let you and they like to see you try, because no one would come if you did."

He stared down at her in horror, his mouth open yet, unable to form words.

"I told Al-Mualim that if I could spare just one person the horrors that I suffered, it would be enough," she went on. "I never actually thought that I would have that opportunity." She sighed, gathering herself. "We have to find the others. They must know what we know about Majd Addin."

They left the gruesome scene behind and cut through the souk in time to see a small woman at an old man's stall buying purple, dried flowers.

By the time the sun set over Jerusalem, the Assassins returned to the Bureau in much higher spirits than when they had left that morning.

"Majd Addin has three lieutenants, Malik," Aliyah said as they all strode inside. "We have names."

The look of pride on her face warmed him to his very soul. "What makes these men so significant?" he asked, his voice gave nothing away.

"If Majd Addin is removed, these men will rip Jerusalem apart like a bone between three dogs," she replied.

"Ah," Malik nodded. "But what does he seek to secure? He has no love for Jerusalem, no business to continue as Talal did."

"We wondered that, as well," Khadim said.

Malik fixed them all with a significant look. "And what have you concluded?"

"Perhaps, it is simply a method of denial," Aliyah answered. "If he cannot have Jerusalem, no man can."

"I have not spent time in his company," Malik said. "But he does seem to be the sort of man who would think that way. It will not do to rid Jerusalem of one tyrant only to give it to three more. I will inform Al-Mualim immediately."

"And we will hope he blesses our blades," Ibrahim growled.

"Indeed," Malik answered, eager anticipation in his eyes.

"Dai!" Rashad cried crashing into the room, his breathing ragged and blood running down the side of his face. "They have captured, Sabir!"


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: Hihi! Here we go and not so long after the last upload! What about that :) Lots of stuff happening here, some familiar territory and of course, new things! It's super late and I have to get up in the morning. Or maybe I should say it's really early and I have to get up in the morning...oh well. I had to finish this chapter because I was soooo close and then I just had to upload it. Will do a reread after I get some sleep so I may have to fix and re-upload. Who knows?

Shout out to **FirstPassageTime** , **Magouille** and **im-an-elf99**! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. It really means a lot and makes my day!

Enjoy!

A/N: Sorry, re-upload. Left out a tiny but important detail :) Chapter 25 coming soon, promise!

* * *

Two days later…

Aliyah and Ibrahim waited in a rooftop garden, watching the gate in strained silence.

"Ra'id…was your husband?" Ibrahim asked as though he was having difficulty comprehending the fact.

"Yes," she answered and hoped that would end the conversation.

"Why…did you let _me_ kill him?" he asked in shock.

She sighed. "If I had killed him, it would not have been just."

" _Just_? He was your husband…everything you suffered was because of him! How could—"

"There is no room in the Brotherhood for personal vengeance," she interrupted. "I knew this from the very beginning. What I never knew was that…I wanted it."

"I regret killing him so quickly," Ibrahim told her darkly.

"I was relieved when you came because I don't believe I would have," she answered.

"He would have deserved anything you did," Ibrahim replied.

She said nothing to that.

"Our friend the grape merchant has yet to return to the souk," Ibrahim commented.

"Good, that may be why he still lives," she replied. "Maybe Majd Addin will die quietly today before he can shed more blood."

He nodded in agreement and looked out over the souk with a grim expression.

"There he is!" Aliyah hissed, pointing to a white-robed man sliding away from a group of scholars at the gate. She had not been so happy to see Altair in months.

"I do not understand why he is here," Ibrahim snorted derisively. "Anyone of us could kill Majd Addin."

"You would deny a man a chance at redemption?" she asked.

He scoffed. "Ah, that's right, I forgot. You _are_ the one who jumped down the cliff to save Abdul."

"You jumped after I did and sacrificed the flag by doing so," she reminded him

"Because I did not trust him to not repay kindness with evil," he replied. "Majd Addin still holds Sabir—"

"Malik will not have us abandon him," Aliyah said. "I have no doubt of that."

"Even if rescuing him is impossible?" Ibrahim asked.

She smiled. "Is there truly such a thing?"

The noise from the souk suddenly quieted and they looked out, seeing the crowd part before Majd Addin as he strode down the street.

"He is hunting," Aliyah said quietly and as she spoke, his guards seized one man from the crowd, then a second. A woman screamed and child wailed.

"We must go," Ibrahim told her gently and they slipped from their hiding place and made their way back to the Bureau.

* * *

Altair leaped onto the Bureau's roof and dropped through the lattice door.

"Safety and peace, Malik," he said as he walked inside.

"Would that this city was possessed of either," Malik replied, looking up from his map. "Why do you trouble me today?"

"Al-Mualim has marked Majd Addin for death," Altair answered. "What can you tell me about him?"

"Salah al-Din's absence has left the city without a proper leader and Majd Addin has appointed himself to play the part," Malik told him. "Fear and intimidation get him what he wants. He has no true claim to the position—"

"That ends today," Altair interrupted.

"You speak too readily," Malik cautioned. "This is not some slaver we are discussing. He rules Jerusalem and is well protected because of it. I suggest you plan your attack carefully, get to better know your prey."

"With your help, I will," Altair replied. "Where would you have me begin my search?"

"What's this?" Malik asked in surprise. "You're actually asking for my assistance instead of demanding it? I am impressed."

"Be out with it," Altair told him impatiently.

Malik shrugged. "As you wish. Here is where I would look, to the southwest near the mosque, after that, head south of here. There are two locations that might interest you. The southernmost church is one and the other is the streets near the synagogue."

Altair nodded thoughtfully and Aliyah's scathing remarks during his last visit rang in his ears.

 _You cost him everything and yet, you refuse to even give him the respect due his rank!_

"Thank you for your help, Dai," he said.

"Don't foul this, Altair," Malik warned him.

Altair's temper heated at Malik's words and he left before he replied in kind.

Malik sighed. "Ibrahim, Aliyah," he called softly.

The Assassins stepped from the shadows of the next room.

"You said nothing to him of Sabir," Ibrahim said.

"Majd Addin will die today but it has been some time since Altair was involved in such a rescue," Malik gave Aliyah a significant glance. "Competence in one does not always lend itself to competence in the other. While at the same time, I am not sure how sincere he is in his efforts at redemption."

"Do you think he might simply disregard Sabir?" Aliyah asked.

"He may," Malik said. "Or, he may overcompensate and rescue Sabir, disregarding everything else."

"You gamble with his life," Ibrahim stated.

Malik gave him a warning look. "Would Sabir wish to be rescued if it meant that Majd Addin lived past today?"

Ibrahim dropped his eyes.

"I am not leaving Sabir's life in his hands alone," Malik said, dark memories playing through his mind. "Ibrahim, I want you and Askari at the execution. Once Majd Addin is dead, rescue Sabir. If Altair fails to kill Majd Addin, then you shall."

"Where do you need me?" Aliyah asked.

"I need you to be our eyes and ears today," Malik told her. "We are spread dangerously thin across the city. We need to be kept informed."

"Yes, Dai," she nodded.

"Ibrahim, shadow Altair until he has what he needs," Malik instructed. "Make sure Majd Addin has no reason to kill Sabir prematurely."

Ibrahim nodded and they left the Bureau. Aliyah went searching for the others. Dabir was near the Bureau, keeping watch over the home of Abd al Alim, the lieutenant in the Rich District.

"Peace, Dabir," she said, stepping into the shadows behind him. "Do not turn around."

"What news, Sister?" he asked softly.

"Altair has come to end the life of Majd Addin," she told him.

"I shall strike with the bells," he said. "The guards will be looking outward for danger, then."

She nodded and vanished, finding Khadim in the Poor District and Farran in the Middle District.

"Find Rashad, Sister," Farran told her. "He left for the southern souk early this morning, saying he overheard something interesting yesterday that he wished to learn more about."

"I shall," she said and left, careful to avoid the guards.

The entire city was aware of the executions taking place at noon and a silence filled the streets as though the people feared that simply being heard would mark them for death. Aliyah moved through the crowds, looking for Rashad.

"Is he not concerned at all?"

Aliyah paused when she heard the whispered question, pretending to browse a merchant's stall.

"He does not seem to be," came a hoarse reply. "You would think after they nearly killed him the first time, he would not want to be breathing the same air that they are."

"Pierre always was a bold one," the other one said. "That's why I like having him in command. Why Robert sent him here is a mystery to me. He'd be better off on the battlefield. You know we only lost one of the battles he led?"

"Of course, he is staying in the Regent's home," the first pointed out. "I suppose it isn't hard to be bold when you're there."

"I've never seen him leave…"

The merchant called out to someone across the street, drowning out the rest of the conversation. Aliyah stepped back, suddenly feeling ill.

 _Pierre? Surely not…_

She had to know for sure. Stepping back between the stalls, she walked right into the two men.

"Watch where you're going, woman!" one of them barked at her.

She raised a hand in a pleading apology and felt an odd mixture of relief and desperation when she saw they did not wear the Black Phoenix of Pierre Delacroix.

"I bet Pierre would like that one," she heard one of them say as she moved away.

"You know he's never gotten over losing that one he was supposed to get," the other one said. "He doesn't even like to hear people talk about Damascus. And those cursed Assassins…he was disappointed that he would not be able to watch that one be executed today."

"Perhaps we should cheer him up," the first one suggested.

Aliyah quickened her pace, ducked down an alley and climbed one of the buildings, rolling onto the roof just as the men rounded the corner.

"Oh, that's disappointing," one of them muttered. "Where did she go?"

She slid away from the edge, rolled to her feet and sprinted for the Bureau.

* * *

Altair dropped through the lattice and strode inside the Bureau.

"What news, Novice?" Malik asked without looking up.

"I am not a novice," Altair informed him coolly.

"A man's skill is defined by his actions, not the markings on his robe," Malik replied in the same tone.

"We can trade barbs or do Al-Mualim's work," Altair said. "It's your decision."

"Then, be out with it," Malik told him impatiently.

"Majd Addin is holding an execution not far from here," Altair reported. "It's sure to be well guarded but it's nothing I cannot handle. I know what to do."

Malik regarded him with disdain. "And this is why you remain a novice in my eyes. You can never _know_ anything, only suspect. You must expect to be _wrong_ , to have _overlooked_ something. How many times must I remind you to anticipate?"

"As you wish," Altair replied, knowing that arguing would be a fruitless effort. "Are we done?"

"Not quite," Malik answered and his tone turned grim. "There is one more thing. One of the men to be executed is a brother, one of us. Al-Mualim wishes him to be saved. Do not worry about the actual rescue, my men will take care of that. But you must ensure that Majd Addin does not take his life."

"I will not give him the chance," Altair replied.

"So I hope," Malik said, laying a white feather on the table.

The concern on Malik's face made Altair hesitate and he almost winced as Aliyah's parting question came back to him.

 _Why did Kadar die, Altair? How can the man who left Solomon's Temple alone and empty-handed be the same man who played such a vital role in my rescue years ago?_

The question was more painful now than it had been when she had first said it.

 _He says not to worry about the actual rescue. Is it because he believes I am unnecessary or incapable?_

He turned to leave.

"Malik!" Aliyah cried as her boots landed on the stone floor. "Please, tell me he hasn't left yet!" She dashed into the room, breathing hard from her sprint.

"What has happened?" Malik asked, startled to see her so panicked.

When she saw Altair, her relief was obvious but it did little to calm her. "We have made a horrible mistake," she said between gasps of air. "There is a fourth man. Majd Addin never intended for those three lieutenants to take charge of Jerusalem."

"Wait, Aliyah, slow down," Malik urged her. "How can you be sure of this? Who is this fourth man?"

She shook her head, wanting to deny the words even as she spoke them. "Pierre…it's Pierre Delacroix."

Malik took a half-step back in shock, remembering the events in the dessert clearly. "That…that isn't possible," he said. "Kadar _killed_ him. _You_ and Kadar _killed_ him."

"And he is not the only man with that name," Altair told her.

"I am aware of that," she said and her voice became pained. "But there was only one Pierre Delacroix in Damascus waiting on a woman as payment for his work. A woman that the Assassins took from him."

The men looked at each other, equally horrified and baffled.

"If we kill Majd Addin, then Pierre Delacroix will take over Jerusalem," Malik said. Horrible memories of the cities Pierre had conquered for Richard came back to him. Images of men ripped apart by horses, women brutalized, children trampled…

"The man is a Templar," Altair spat the word. "We cannot allow that."

"We do not have time for this!" Malik growled. "Where is he?"

"Majd Addin's home," Aliyah answered. "I did not have time to check his location for myself, but the guards said he never leaves."

"No, he would not leave," Malik said, opening a map of the city. "He is too well known to us, and he is aware of that." He trailed his finger over the map until he found the Regent's home. Black X's marked the homes of the lieutenants and even the one in the Rich District was too far away for Dabir to be of any assistance.

"He knows us, as well," she pointed out. "Especially you and Altair."

"And I have no doubt that he has spies," Malik said. "I had thought the danger had passed with Saamir's death."

"The consequences of his betrayal are far-reaching, indeed," Altair said. "If Pierre decides to hunt us, we will not be able to escape him and if we lose Jerusalem to him, we may never be able to retake it."

"We are spread too thin," Malik hissed in frustration.

Aliyah studied the map. "Has Rashad come back?"

 _If he has, or even if he is close by, we can take Pierre together._

"No," Malik answered.

Her heart fell and despair settled in her chest, threatening to smother her. She remembered the day they had fought Pierre clearly and she knew the skill of both men in the room with her. She began to compare the men in her mind, recalling events when she had seen them fight. The Templar knight easily matched Altair for strength and he wore armor, as well. Malik's advantage had always been his speed and as she thought back to all the times she either watched him fight or been his opponent, her heart accelerated as her memories forced her to acknowledge the grim evidence.

Pierre was just as fast as Malik.

 _I cannot take Pierre alone! But all of our lives depend on his death today. Majd Addin has ignored us. Pierre will not. I am the only one left. Once the bells ring, no one will be able to reach him, not even Altair._

 _Once the bells ring, I will not be able to leave._

She forced herself to keep her eyes on the map. If she looked up at Malik, her resolve would melt away under her impossible wants.

Her choices were terribly simple.

 _My life for all of theirs. Or all of our lives for nothing._

"Then, I will go alone," she said, her voice oddly steady despite the anxiety that tried to choke her.

"Absolutely not," Malik told her sharply though a feeling of dread settled in his core when he realized that it may be their only choice.

She looked up at him and was instantly heartsick. "Malik—"

"Look at this, Aliyah," he jabbed his finger at the map. "That building is a fortress," he traced the outline with his finger, specifically the high walls, ramparts and multiple gates inside as well as outside. "Even if you can get inside, how will you get out once Pierre is dead? The man is in hiding, obviously, which means he is most likely in one of the innermost chambers. You will have no way to reach him from the outside."

 _I cannot send her…she would never survive an encounter with him!_

"I will take Pierre once I have dealt with Majd Addin," Altair said.

"You can't," she replied. "When the bells ring, the guards will be on alert and no one will be able to get inside. You would have to kill Pierre first and in that time, you will have failed your mission. And we cannot reassign any of the others to this task," she said, turning to Malik. "If any one of these men succeed Majd Addin, then every effort we have made to secure Jerusalem will be for nothing. What good will it do if we remove Majd Addin and, by doing so, place three men in power who are just as evil?"

"Who are these other men?" Altair asked.

"They terrorize the Districts they are confined in," she answered, "committing the same atrocities as Majd Addin. But even worse…what if—what if it was Pierre, not Majd Addin, who placed those men here? If that is the case, then they are Templars, as well."

Altair shook his head. "Say no more. I see no other way for this to happen Malik. And she is right. None of these men can have the city."

Malik stared at the map, searching his mind for anything he might have overlooked, anything that might spark an idea for an alternative to sending Aliyah after Pierre alone.

 _I cannot send her!_

"Malik, we are out of time," she told him. "There is nothing else to be done."

He shook his head, a weight of dread and desperation settling on him. "I cannot allow this."

"Malik, I was tasked with killing Saamir and I returned alive," she reminded him, forcing herself to sound confident.

"If you are still inside when the bells ring, they will slaughter you." His voice was pained.

She gave him an amused smile. "Then, I will need to leave before the bells ring, won't I?"

He shook his violently, knowing he had no choice. "Go," he said miserably. "Both of you go before I change my mind."

Altair left immediately. However, when Aliyah stepped outside, she paused and turned back. Malik was propped on the table, gripping his hair in obvious agony, unaware that she had lingered. When she stepped back into the room, he looked up in surprise and she saw the fear, the dread, the shame and the relief clearly in his eyes. The relief and the knowledge that she was about to take it away from him was agonizing.

 _Forgive me, Malik. I cannot allow us all to die simply because I want to stay with you._

"May I ask something of you, Malik?" her voice was soft, shy.

"Anything," he said immediately, his brow still furrowed with worry.

"I have…one thing left of value," she said hesitantly. "Will you keep it for me?"

"Of course," he replied.

She walked to him, pulling her hood back. When she reached him, he held out his hand expectantly. She cast off every nervous thought, grasped his forearm with one hand and pressed her lips to his, her other hand going to the back of his head. She felt him stiffen in surprise, felt him relax, then she felt him tug her a little closer. The warmth that flooded her was bittersweet and she felt tears burning behind her eyes.

Then, she released him and found that his hand had gone from her arm to her back.

"What…was that exactly?" he asked softly, trying to ignore the trembling in his body.

She smiled wistfully and caressed his cheek. "A little girl's last dream," she said and prayed her eyes would not betray her thoughts. When she pulled back, he was slow to release her and when she pulled her hood up and left, he stared after her, his mouth open with so many unspoken words.

"Be careful," he whispered. "Please, be careful."

Aliyah climbed to the roof and realized that tears were falling down her cheeks.

 _Malik said I was faster than he was. Even if that is true, the moment I move in for the kill, he'll have me, and then…_

She paused on the edge of the roof, held her breath to control her terror and clenched her shaking hands. She pursed her mouth, recalling the feel of his lips.

 _I am so sorry, Malik. That was selfish of me._

She wanted to kiss the man she loved. A little girl's last dream.

She sighed, steeled herself and dropped to the ground. Majd Addin's home was easy to find. The small palace stood in the heart of the Rich District. She crept along the wall and located a small guard door. She scored the wood with her dagger, opened the door and shoved a pebble into the lock to keep it from engaging completely. When she slipped inside, she found herself in a guard room, not unlike the one she had passed through to meet Malik in Masyaf. The silence was both unsettling and comforting. She quickly crossed to the other door and knelt beside the keyhole, listening. When silence greeted her, she stepped outside, she found herself in a gateway between the inner and outer courtyards. The stone walkway overhead provided a deep shadow and she hesitated a moment as apprehension filled her. The outer courtyard was filled with shrubbery and trees. The inner courtyard was completely bare, without even a shaded walkway at its edges and the walls were far thicker than normal. The two gates on the left and right identified this place.

 _This where the soldiers are drilled and dispatched._

 _I'll have to cross completely in the open and there is nowhere to hide._

Suddenly, she heard footsteps and turned to see four Templar knights entering the confined space with weapons drawn. One threw a spear, forcing her to dodge away from the wall and the others charged her. She drew her short blade and dodged one, then another, but the third lashed out with his sword like a snake and the blade sliced into her side. She cried out in pain and staggered. The wound was shallow but, given enough time, would become troublesome. She instantly regained her balance and readied her short blade, only to see that they had left her. The gate swung shut with a thunderous crash and she heard the sounds of the beams sliding into place, locking her inside.

"Assassin!"

At the sound of Pierre's shout, she flattened herself against the wall gripping her short blade.

"Come! Do not play this game with me! If I wanted you dead, you would be! Believe me!"

She believed him. Even Altair avoided attacking more than one Templar knight at once.

"Come out! Come out so that we may talk!"

She started forward slowly, warily, her pulse pounding in her ears, knowing that if she refused, Pierre would have her dragged to where he was. At least, this way, she could still move freely.

"People are always asking me what the secret to my successes is! What is it that sets me apart from other men?"

She was almost to the open space, only the edge of the balcony's shadow separated her from the courtyard.

"I tell them each time, it is that I love to learn, I love conversations—"

A body plummeted to the ground in front of her and she leaped back with a startled gasp. She froze as horror seized her and she realized what she was looking at.

The robes were slashed and so completely soaked with blood that it left smears on the ground. The legs were bent at odd angles and she could see the broken bones pressing against the skin. The right arm was largely uninjured by comparison, but the left hand was missing every finger.

 _No, no it cannot be…_

The stub of one finger wasn't bloody, indicating that it had been removed some time ago.

"Rashad!" her voice was choked to a whisper. She dashed forward, thinking only that he may still be alive.

His face was so cut and bruised that he was almost unrecognizable. Any of the wounds on his body might have been fatal if left, but the deep gash across his throat was what had ended his life. His open left eye held a look of relief and she knew that he had welcomed death when it came for him, but she also saw shame in the empty gaze.

"Rashad, forgive me," she begged hoarsely, laying her hand on his bloody, torn chest. His body was cold.

"I learned _much_ from him."

She looked up at Pierre and his smug smile pierced her like a blade.

"I do not often find people so skilled at conversation so early in the morning," he told her. "You can imagine my pleasant surprise when he arrived. Like so many others, he was modest in the beginning, saying very little. But then, after some time, he became quite _talkative_. Yes, he had many things to tell me and all of them very interesting."

She slowly stood, gripping her short blade in a white hand as terror seized her heart.

 _Rashad, no, please tell me you did not betray us._

"You see, I've been waiting for you," Pierre went on. "I did not think to ask him which one of you would come for me before he…departed. I would like to see your face."

She clenched her teeth and took a step back.

Pierre nodded and suddenly, the ramparts were lined with archers and soldiers streamed from the towers, blocking the gate.

Aliyah looked around but refused to turn her back on Pierre.

 _This was a trap._

She felt an odd mixture of fear and calm. In the back of her mind, she realized she had entertained the hope of survival. Now that she knew it was no longer possible, she could think more clearly and look at the archers without flinching, only concerned with how agonizing her death would be. She wanted to die quickly, not linger at their mercy.

"You cannot escape," Pierre told her reasonably. "I would like to see with whom I converse and I would like to see while you live. A man tires of looking at corpses."

She slowly grasped her hood, fighting for every second of time.

 _I need to find a way to reach him._

The walls were rough stone and the ornate frieze around the guard towers would provide a foothold if she could get that high.

She dropped her hood.

Pierre's stared down at her in undisguised shock, then, he looked amused. "Ah, I had wondered what had become of you. I was actually concerned that in my temper, I had killed you. I have never understood the men who kill those they've purchased to serve them. I've always seen it as a wasted investment and you came highly praised. I hope you will pardon me, I…just do not like to be thwarted."

Aliyah fought to control her temper and shifted her grip on her blade.

"Come now, put that away," Pierre coaxed. "It will do you no good here."

She slid the short sword into the sheath on her back, her mind still working rapidly.

"I'm curious," Pierre said. "Which one of the Assassins finally managed to kill Saamir Rahimi?"

Which one of the Assassins, he said, as though he did not see her as one of them.

 _Of course he does not. He only sees me as a wh—woman he bought._

Malik had forbidden her to say the word again, so she refused to think it, as well.

"I did," she told him coldly.

He smiled like a predator. "And you think you will kill me so easily, as well?"

"How easy can it be to kill a man who refuses to die?" she asked.

He laughed. "Ah! If only living was as simple as 'refusing to die'. Of course, I do not suppose it is impossible," he looked at her thoughtfully, like a butcher planning his cuts. "I've seen many men perish from wounds similar to the one I gave you, and yet, here you are because you 'refused to die'."

He raised his hand and she heard the strange sound of fifty bows drawing back.

"Perhaps, living is that simple," he said with wolfish grin.

She flexed up onto the balls of her feet and bent her knees.

 _My life for all your lives._

 _You always told me I had value, Malik. Always_ looked _at me as though I had value. If I can succeed today, then I will finally be able to count my life as worth something._

"Let us see, shall we?" he said.

She sprinted for the wall.

Pierre dropped his hand.

The arrows flew.

* * *

The bells rang out the city's panic and the sound echoed over through every corner of Jerusalem.

Malik leaned over a map, forcing his mind to work to force back the numbing fear and dread that seized him since Aliyah had gone. He saw her face every time he closed his eyes, every sound he heard, he prayed it would become her footsteps, her voice. He felt light-headed and he couldn't catch his breath.

 _Please, come back. Please, come back alive._

He could still feel her lips, so soft against his own and he closed his eyes to keep the sensation from fading.

 _I have too many questions. Too many things I must say to you._

Boots landed hard on the floor outside and he held his breath, then released it when the stride was too heavy.

Altair strode inside and brandished the bloodstained white feather. "Jerusalem needs a new ruler," he announced.

"So I have heard," Malik replied, only half-pleased with the news.

"What's this?" Altair asked in mock surprise. "No words of wisdom for me? Surely, I have failed in some spectacular fashion."

Malik straightened tiredly. "You preformed as an Assassin should," he said in a tone of rebuke, "no more, no less. The fact that you expect praise for merely doing as told troubles me."

Altair was silent for a moment. "It seems that everything I do troubles you," he said quietly, strangely unsettled by the realization.

Malik nodded as though he though Altair should have realized that long before. "Reflect on that," he replied. "But do so on your way to Masyaf. Your work here is done."

Altair hesitated, then, when Malik showed no intention of further acknowledging his presence he left the Bureau. As he started to make his way to the gate, he stopped, an odd feeling of responsibility settling over him. He looked over his shoulder toward the Bureau, then ran back.

* * *

Malik marked his measurements with conscious care, forcing his mind to focus on the task. When he heard something land outside again, he rolled his eyes wearily.

"What, Novice?" he demanded. "I have far more pressing things to do than to worry about you."

No one entered.

"Altair!" he called sharply and received no answer. He left the table and headed for the door.

The bloody, ragged form on the ground was not Altair.

"Aliyah!" he cried, rushing to her. Her robes were soaked in blood, her hood was ripped away and her body was horribly gashed and torn. Her hidden blade was still extended and the steel was notched, her right hand clutched a bloody dagger.

She was still bleeding.

"Aliyah!" he cried her name again and rolled her onto her back. Her face was pale and blood ran from the corner of her mouth. He scooped her into his right arm and the tiniest gasp escaped her and a fatal rasp entered her breathing as her head fell back limply over his arm. He cradled her against his chest and shoulder and tried to move his left arm to feel for her heartbeat, cursing violently when he only felt the tug of his shoulder.

Her right hand relaxed and the dagger she had clutched so tightly clattered to the stones.

His dagger.

Panic swelled in his chest and he couldn't breathe. He knew everything she needed, everything he needed to do and he couldn't do any of it.

"Do not die," he begged. "Do not die, Aliyah. Please, wake up! What have I done? What have I done?"

 _I am responsible. Responsible and incapable._

The lattice creaked above him and Altair dropped down.

"Malik—"

"Altair, help me!" Malik cried. "Help me get her inside!"

Altair stepped around him and even after carrying out so many successful assassinations, the sight of Aliyah's limp body numbed him. He lifted her gently from Malik's grip and strode into the Bureau with her. "Where?" he asked.

"Here," Malik opened the door to his room.

Altair eased into the room and laid her on the bed. Malik stepped past him and immediately started checking her injuries.

"What can I do?" Altair asked.

"I need water, cloths, salves and bandages," Malik told him. "And needle and thread!" he called after him as he left the room. He started examining her injuries further. Dark blood leaked from several deep punctures and after gently probing one with his fingers, he realized that the tip of an arrow was still in her side. He stood and took in the entire sight of her, overwhelmed by the sheer number of lacerations and punctures.

Altair stepped back into the room, his arms full of various items.

"On that shelf," Malik told him shakily, "find my surgical knives."

As Altair searched the shelf, Malik began pouring water over one of the punctures.

"Here," Altair held out a small, leather bundle.

Malik took it and proceeded to insert a blade into the wound and, ever so carefully, pulled the arrowhead out. "Cloth," he said and Altair held one against the wound as more blood bubbled out of it.

After what seemed like an eternity, Malik removed the last arrow tip and dropped it into a bowl with the others. Altair counted six total and suddenly, the rest of her wounds made sense.

"Arrows," he said quietly. "Every one, it was all arrows."

"Not all of them," Malik said as he washed a particularly deep puncture in the side of her stomach. "This was a dagger." He dropped his cloth and selected a fresh one. His hand was shaking and sweat trickled down the side of his face.

He sutured the gashes as carefully as he could and bound her wounds. He had not been able to stop all the bleeding but he had managed to slow it enough that it didn't seep through the bandages immediately and wrapped her gently in a robe.

"Lift her," he told Altair and once he had, Malik started to change the blankets on the bed. Once she was settled back into bed, he gathered up the bloody cloths and took it outside. As he stepped out of the room, Ibrahim returned with Sabir and Askari.

"Dai, what happened?" Ibrahim asked. "There is so much blood outside." His eyes fell to the bowl of bloody rags in Malik's hand and then to Altair as he entered carrying everything else. "Who was it?"

"It was Aliyah," Malik answered quietly, feeling ill.

"How? She was nowhere near any of the fighting," Ibrahim said, horrified at the thought.

"Yes, she was," Malik told him, setting the bowl down before he dropped it. "I sent her after another target, another one Majd Addin's replacements. Are you alright?" he asked Sabir

"I am fine, Dai," Sabir assured him.

Malik nodded and Sabir and Askari left the room, Sabir limping slightly on his right leg.

"Is she alive?" Ibrahim asked anxiously.

"For now," Malik told him miserably. "Thank you, Altair."

The Assassin nodded gravely. "What else do you need?"

Malik shook his head. "Return to Masyaf," he said wearily.

"My report will wait, Malik," Altair told him. "What do you need me to do?"

Malik finally looked at him, his eyes full of grief and mistrust.

"Malik, one of your best clings to life and you still have a man missing," Altair said. "You need someone to help and I am the only one here."

Malik sighed, physically and emotionally exhausted. "Go with Ibrahim," he said, "locate the others. _Find_ Rashad. And find out if she succeeded or…or if I've killed her for no reason."

Altair nodded and he and Ibrahim left the Bureau immediately.

Malik sank back against the wall by his door, feeling as though he was drowning and hating himself, hating his position and the responsibilities that came with it, hating the decisions he was forced to make that determined life and death.

 _When I wielded the blade, it was different…it was simpler. My life was the one risked. What right have I to command others to endure that risk when I no longer can? Who am I to choose who sacrifices their lives for the Brotherhood?_

He looked down in horror at his bloodstained clothing and numbly entered his room. Aliyah's bruised face was the only part of her that was visible. He wiped his hand clean and touched her forehead, almost hoping to feel a fever. At least, then he would know that some part of her was still fighting to stay alive. The strength left his legs and he sank to the floor beside the bed as grief overwhelmed him.

She was so still…so dangerously still.

 _What have I done?_


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: Hihi! Finally got it done! I can't promise that I'll be able to upload the next chapter quickly because the semester started last week and it's gonna be months of teetering on the edge of staying caught up and getting hopelessly behind. Lots of homework this time. But I'll do everything I can. This one took me a little while because things kept happening that weren't supposed to. The characters were taking over!

Shoutout to **Flutteryshy 2059123** , **anita.w09** , **Athenais Mona** , **Rahuratna** , and **Wandering Mage011**! Thank you guys so much for all the reviews! Hope you stick around to the end!

Everybody, if you reviewed Chapter 24 and I missed you, let me know ASAP!

Enjoy!

A/N: Don't get too excited everybody. I had to re-upload because I found some errors that I HAD to fix. Hopefully I'll have some new material for you soon.

* * *

Ibrahim shoved Khadim into the shadows of an alley just as the guards ran past and Altair leaped over the alley where they sheltered. Khadim released the painful breath he'd been holding only for Ibrahim to clap a hand over his mouth and push him farther into the shadows. Khadim's eyes widened over Ibrahim's hand and his first instinct was to struggle and question.

Ibrahim held a finger to his lips, signaling Khadim to remain silent

"Stay here," he hissed and ghosted away into the deepening twilight.

Khadim nodded and bent double to catch his breath, clutching his side. Blood seeped from the wound and his robes were even more soaked from his desperate run through the souk.

"There you are!"

Khadim spun in alarm to see two guards charging him, swords drawn. Ibrahim leaped from his perch on the roof, hurled two knives into the soldiers' throats and landed on a third guard's shoulders, driving his hidden blade into the man's neck before he could stab Khadim in the back.

Khadim sagged against the wall in relief. "My thanks, Brother," he said softly. "How did you know?"

"I saw them fall behind the others in their pursuit," Ibrahim told him. "It was safe to assume they would have seen where we hid."

"It has been too long since I was in combat," Khadim said, embarrassed by his ineptitude.

Ibrahim retrieved his knives. "Informing for Malik is usually quiet work," he replied. "And your skills are not so lacking. You eliminated your target with ease."

Khadim held up a bloody hand and gave him a skeptical grimace.

"Can you make it back to the Bureau from here?" Ibrahim asked.

"You are not returning with me?" Khadim replied in surprise.

"We must find Rashad," Ibrahim answered.

Khadim nodded. "Safety and peace, Brother."

Ibrahim nodded a farewell, waited until Khadim was out of sight, then he climbed to the roof.

Altair stepped out from behind a rooftop garden. "Well?"

"He will make it back safely," Ibrahim replied. "Farran said that the last time he saw Rashad, he was planning on spying in the southern souk."

"I doubt the person he meant to spy on is still there," Altair said.

"I agree," Ibrahim answered, ignoring the Assassin's sarcastic tone. "But what could he have heard that would be of such importance that he would make a point to go there specifically?"

Altair was silent for a moment. "Is it possible that he overheard something regarding Pierre?"

"I hope not," Ibrahim replied. "If he did, then he most likely went to investigate that, as well, and if that is the case...then, I believe we know where to look for him."

Altair nodded darkly and they headed for Majd Addin's home. When they came within sight of the massive building, they stopped and watched from the shadows.

"I question the wisdom of our approach," Ibrahim confessed.

"The soldiers are hunting for us in the streets," Altair replied, disdaining the younger man's concern. "Why would they look for us here?"

Ibrahim considered Altair's logic and nodded.

"However," Altair continued, "I see no reason to tempt Death by walking through the front gate."

As the men began searching for an alternate entrance, Ibrahim's mind kept repeating Malik's orders.

 _Find Rashad. Find out if she succeeded or if I've killed her for no reason._

The grim words filled Ibrahim with dread.

 _Is my hope that she will live vain? Will I return and find that she is gone?_

"Do you think she will live?" Ibrahim asked suddenly. "You were with Malik when he tended her injuries."

Altair stopped walking. "I've seen men die from wounds less severe and more severe," he said without turning around.

"That is not what I asked you," Ibrahim said in a hard voice.

Altair started walking again. His silence answered Ibrahim's question and bitter resentment filled the young Assassin.

"Here," Ibrahim pointed to a small door after a moment of walking in silence. "We might be able to get inside this way."

"Perhaps," Altair agreed warily.

As Ibrahim approached the door, the full moon illuminated a long scar in the wood and a cautious hope filled him.

 _She came in this way..._

He grasped the handle and pulled the door open. "Look," he said, drawing Altair's attention to the jammed lock.

The Assassin's face was grim. "She ensured someone else could complete her task if she failed."

Ibrahim tasted bitterness again at his words and they entered the guard tower. The room was empty but they left quickly and found themselves between the courtyards. A servant woman knelt in the outer courtyard, scrubbing the stone floor. Altair strode forward, extending his hidden blade. The woman turned her head at the sound of footsteps and her eyes widened in terror.

"No, Master," she begged, her voice choked with fear. "Please-"

Altair seized her by the shoulder, dragging her to her feet and placed his blade against her throat. "Leave, and say nothing," he commanded, his voice promising death if she disobeyed.

She nodded tearfully and the moment he released her, she ran for the gate without looking back.

Altair turned to look for Ibrahim and saw him examining the place she had been trying to clean.

"Blood," he said. "Not as much as I feared."

"Do not let that give you hope," Altair warned him.

Ibrahim cast a glare in his direction, not appreciating the grim advice. Altair walked past him, looking thoughtfully at the ramparts. Then, his expression became grieved and he looked back toward the middle gate.

"What is it?" Ibrahim asked.

"Malik pulled six arrow tips out of her," Altair replied grimly. "This is where it happened. This is where she fought. They were waiting..." he trailed off, turning a slow circle to see the entire courtyard.

"Was she lured, then?" Ibrahim asked.

"Perhaps," Altair replied. "She was certainly trapped here."

Ibrahim looked up and peered at the balustrade. "There is more blood there," he said, just able to see the dark stain in the torchlight. "Could this have been Pierre?" he asked, gesturing to the half cleaned bloodstain.

"It is possible," Altair said doubtfully. "But that isn't enough blood for a fresh kill."

"We don't know how much was here before she started cleaning it," Ibrahim pointed out.

Altair conceded with a nod. "Let us hope it was, then."

Ibrahim studied the balustrade a little longer, trying to envision what might have taken place.

 _She could have thrown a knife...but would that have caused him to fall here?_

"If this was Pierre, this was not where she killed him," he said aloud.

"I've found more blood," Altair called to him.

Ibrahim strode to the wall and saw two large bloodstains, almost black in the torches' flame. He looked up to gauge where the men had been when they fell. "Do you see that?" he asked, startled to see what looked like two knives stabbed into the stone.

 _No, between the stones..._

Below the first knife and second knife were dark circles like bloody footprints. He looked toward the tower, then the balcony and saw similar markings.

 _Would it be possible?_

He studied the distance between the knives and the tower.

 _The jump would not be impossible, but the knives would have never withstood the force of the leap._

Then, the dark prints on the wall made sense to him.

Ibrahim drew two daggers, took several steps back and sprinted for the wall. His momentum carried him upwards easily and just before he started to fall, he drove the blade into a crumbling seam between the blocks next to the first knife. Then, he pulled himself up as far as he could and stabbed a second dagger into a seam. With a grunt of effort, he kicked off the wall and managed to grab the edge of the frieze and pulled himself up, balancing precariously.

"Have you gone mad?" Altair demanded in disbelief.

Ibrahim ignored him and looked back at the wall incredulously.

 _She accomplished that with arrows raining down around her…I just managed to match the height of her blade and she is smaller than I am…_

"She killed two archers," he said. "To clear her path and give herself a little more height for the climb."

Altair pursed his lips, his thoughts taking a darker path.

 _And the entire time she hung there, she was being ripped apart._

"Throw me that torch," Ibrahim told him. Once he had the torch, he examined the tower itself, finding dozens of score marks and bloody handprints between his feet.

Altair followed him from the ground as he stepped to the balcony. "What do you see?" he asked.

"More marks in the stone," Ibrahim replied. _More blood…_

He could see her running in his mind, the archers falling from her knives, her desperate sprint up the wall and across to the tower. Running across the balcony…

Then, the light of his torch fell on a large pool of dried blood.

Here _is where Pierre died._

The puddle stretched into drag marks and past the drag marks, were bloody footprints. He followed them until they ended at the next tower. Then, he saw two dark prints up the side of the tower and in the moonlight, he could make out what appeared to be a large, bloody smear. Below was another black pool of dried blood.

 _That is where she managed to escape._

The realization gave him some comfort and the next thought took it from him viciously.

 _Altair said that Malik pulled six arrows from her but…that can't mean that all of the others missed her…_

"What else have you found?" Altair called up to him.

Ibrahim dropped to the ground.

"She killed Pierre," he reported.

"I hope so," Altair said quietly. "I've seen the man die twice and yet, he was here today."

Ibrahim remembered the blood and a new feeling of foreboding filled him.

 _How much of it was—is—hers?_

"Altair, how badly was she wounded?" he asked softly but the steel in his voice warned that he would not allow the Assassin to evade the question again.

Altair's eyes were concealed by his hood, but Ibrahim saw the muscles clench in his jaw.

"She may not survive the night," he replied.

The words nearly sent Ibrahim reeling.

 _No…that cannot be…_

"We must find Rashad," Altair told him. "Do you think you can manage that without climbing the walls like a madman?"

Ibrahim bristled. "Would you have preferred to tell Malik that she had killed Pierre and know nothing about how it could be possible? I'm not sure why he felt your presence was necessary."

"The two of us are capable of accomplishing—"

"He sent you to shadow me," Ibrahim interrupted hotly. "Though he should know I am among the ones who least need it."

"Even if that _were_ true, you would resent his concern when all he wants is for you to return alive?" Altair asked disapprovingly.

Ibrahim glared at him coldly.

 _When last I heard, Altair, you are hardly the one best suited to ensure that._

He nearly spoke the words aloud but somehow managed to hold his tongue.

 _He did offer his services to Malik, after all. Maybe she was right and he does deserve the chance of redemption_

"Far be it from me to disregard my Dai's wishes," Ibrahim told him coolly and turned away, striding across the courtyard.

Altair had seen the condemnation in Ibrahim's eyes and his own mind spoke the words the younger Assassin refused to say.

 _Kadar lost his life, Malik lost his arm and the Apple was almost lost to us…_

As they drew near the opposite side of the courtyard, Ibrahim tossed his torch away and opened the door, wincing as the hinges moaned in protest. They found themselves in a dark corridor and the flickering light from the torches on wall confused the eyes.

"We will have to be careful," Altair whispered. "It will be difficult to determine a threat from a mere shadow."

Ibrahim grunted in reply and took a torch.

"That isn't wise," Altair warned.

"I'm not going to keep it," Ibrahim said irritably. He lowered the flame to the floor. "We go this way," he said, gesturing to the hall on their right.

"And how did you determine that?" Altair asked, matching his tone.

Ibrahim cast a warning glance in his direction. "You ask a great deal of questions for a man who insists he is not a novice," he remarked, then he pointed to the tiles. "The floor has been scrubbed more recently here. If the servant was cleaning the blood in the courtyard, do you not think she would have cleaned inside the residence first?"

Altair nodded and breathed a little easier when Ibrahim replaced the torch.

"Come, the sooner we find Rashad, the sooner we can leave," he said.

"Where are the others guards?" Ibrahim mused.

"In their quarters, I imagine," Altair replied.

"What did you mean when you said you saw Pierre die twice before?" Ibrahim asked hoarsely a moment later as they made their way farther down the hall.

"Kadar and Aliyah attacked him when we were returning to Masyaf from Damascus," Altair replied as he descended some stairs. "And then, there was another time in Acre—"

He broke off suddenly and flattened himself against the wall, pinning Ibrahim beside with his arm as three guards walked by the doorway. Their voices and armor had drowned out the Assassins' approach but it would only take a careful look up the steps to discover them. Once they had passed, Altair released a held breath and Ibrahim pushed his arm away disdainfully.

"Mind yourself," he told Altair sharply. "Don't worry about me."

"Where are you going?" Altair demanded when Ibrahim walked around him.

"I am going to find out where they are keeping Rashad," Ibrahim replied ominously and began stalking the group of men.

"You best not forget to put that in the storeroom," one of the guards said.

"I'm not sure why I should now," another replied. "The dead are nothing to fear."

"True enough, but would you want one of _them_ to find you with it?"

The statement made the other man pause thoughtfully. "I suppose not." He stopped in front of a large wooden door while the others proceeded down the hall.

Ibrahim waited in the shadow between two torches, watching the man search for the correct key among the dozen on the large ring he carried. Then, the moment he opened the door, the Assassin attacked. He clamped a hand over the guard's mouth and forced him into the storeroom. The man struggled violently in Ibrahim's grip until the Assassin punched him in the side of the head. The man nearly went limp then, and Ibrahim turned him around and shifted his grip from the man's mouth to his throat while Altair stood just inside the door.

"Who are you?" the man croaked in alarm.

Ibrahim drove his right hand into the man's stomach. "I will ask the questions, and you will give me the answers," he menaced. "Do you understand?"

The man nodded, dazed and struggling desperately to breathe.

"Where is the Assassin?"

The guard pointed to the wall on his left. "…down…stairs…" he wheezed.

"Is he alive?" Ibrahim demanded.

"Why…keep…coming…here?" the man gasped.

Ibrahim loosened his hold just enough for the man to speak.

"First…him…then…the woman…now…you…"

"What woman?" Ibrahim snapped, unwilling to reveal he knew Aliyah had been to this place.

"I thought…Pierre would…keep her…for…a while," the man went on. "But…he just…had us…kill her…"

Ibrahim suddenly noticed the bracer on the man's wrist. He was an archer. Clutched in his hand was Rashad's hidden blade.

Despite his terror, the man grinned at the memory. "Only time…I ever…missed…my shot. I…aiming…heart…" he voice trailed off into a breathy gasp as Ibrahim tightened his grip.

Ibrahim could see nothing before him but the blood in the courtyard.

 _I should crush the breath from you. But that would give me too much pleasure. To honor her, I shall refrain._

"All…you…murderers!" the man wheezed vehemently.

"In war, all men are murderers," Ibrahim told him with a cold smile. "We fight for freedom. What do you fight for?" he asked and drove his hidden blade into the man's heart.

The Assassins stepped from the room and Ibrahim locked the door with the guard's keys.

"Ibrahim," Altair said his name with some concern when he saw the younger man's hands shaking.

"I should have gutted him like the swine he was," Ibrahim hissed wrathfully. "I would have, but for the noise he would have made."

"Let us find Rashad and be done with this place," Altair said, hoping that reminding him of their task would distract him from his anger.

Ibrahim nodded and they quickly found the stairs the guard had mentioned. They spiraled down deep into the ground and the farther they went, the more concerned Altair became.

 _The guards could trap us easily here if we are not careful_

As they neared the bottom, men's voiced echoed off the stones.

"Did you feed the dogs?" one asked.

"No, I'm not going near those beasts!" another replied vehemently. "They can starve to death for all I care. Leave it for Bernard in the morning, he's the only one they're actually afraid of."

"Fair enough," the first answered. "What did you do with him, then?"

"I got him as far as the door," the second said. "But that's all I'm doing. Now, I'm turning in for the night."

The voices faded away but the Assassins remained frozen on the stairs.

"Dogs?" Altair questioned aloud.

"You don't suppose that…" Ibrahim looked at him with a horrified expression.

Altair raised a hand to quiet him and they slipped through the doorway. As they passed by a partially open door, Ibrahim looked through the crack and saw a man laid out on a surgical table and a doctor milling about the room making preparations of a sort.

"That is Pierre Delacroix," Altair said in a low voice beside him. "And that is his physician."

Ibrahim pushed the door open and strode inside. He seized the doctor from behind and extended his hidden blade.

Altair caught his arm before he could drive the blade into the man's neck. "What are you doing?!" he hissed, horrified.

Ibrahim gave him a dark look. "Pierre would have been dead long before now were it not for him! Because of this man, countless others have died! He is hardly an innocent."

"He has no weapon," Altair told him severely. "You cannot take his life."

Malik's words in Solomon's Temple came back to him suddenly.

 _No! This one need not die!_

Altair snatched the man away and wrapped his arm around his neck. After a moment of panicked choking, the man fell limp and Altair laid him on the floor.

Ibrahim stared at the man's unconscious body, dark thoughts playing across his face.

 _Pierre was a monster, but you enabled him to live._

"We have to find Rashad," Altair reminded him firmly.

 _He is angry, as he should be, but he is going to get us killed if we linger here too long._

Ibrahim looked up and nodded, controlling himself with a deep breath. As he started to follow Altair out the door, he drew his sword and as the other Assassin whirled around in alarm, he brought it down on Pierre's exposed neck, severing his head cleanly.

"Let's see the doctor raise him from the dead a third time," he said coldly.

Altair said nothing, both relieved and unnerved, and lead the way from the room. After a moment of careful searching, the sounds of vicious growling reached them and they stepped into the shadows. When the sounds grew no closer, they nodded to each other, silently agreeing to find the source. Down a short, dark corridor was a heavy, wooden door and the growling was much louder.

"Would they keep dogs in the storeroom?" Ibrahim asked dubiously.

Altair banged on the door with his fist and was answered with a murderous snarl. However, though the sound was louder, it came no closer. "If they are, they are chained," he said and opened the door easily, much to his surprise.

Torchlight from the corridor spilled into the room, illuminating a barred door on the far end that led to the outside, heavy chains and spiked collars on the walls and a body wrapped in bloodstained white robes in the middle of the floor.

"It is Rashad," Ibrahim said softly.

Neither of them moved for a moment as grief washed over them. They realized that some small part of them had harbored the impossible hope that they would find Rashad alive. However, as men who had taken lives many times, they needed nothing else to tell them that their brother was far past saving.

Ibrahim walked over and knelt beside the bloody, broken body. "Forgive me for not finding you sooner, Brother," he whispered.

"Now we know what happened," Altair said grimly. "How Pierre was able to trap her in the courtyard."

"Look at him, Altair," Ibrahim said dangerously. "There are only a few men who could keep their silence unto death. He did his best, surely even _you_ can see that."

Altair shook his head. "I never thought that he would give the information willingly," he said. "I have seen what Pierre could do to men."

A chill shivered down his spine and he turned, checking for danger.

 _Something is wrong…_

Then, he realized what it was.

The growling had stopped.

He stepped to the barred door and peered into the dark room beyond. A low rumble that he felt in his chest more than he heard came from the other side and he left the room to retrieve a torch. When he returned he tossed it through the bars. Three massive black shapes lunged at the door. The chains holding the beasts snapped taut with a reverberating crack but still the animals strained against their iron tethers, salivating and clawing the stone floor.

"What _are_ those?" Ibrahim demanded in horror.

"War dogs," Altair replied quietly, observing the massive beasts with disgust. Bred for war and trained for murder, these animals bore the scars of brutal punishments and the mad hunger in their eyes told him that their rewards had been human flesh.

Ibrahim stared at the grotesque beasts. "They were going to _feed_ him to them?"

Altair nodded. "We have Rashad, now we must go."

"And those animals?" Ibrahim asked. "We are just going to leave them?"

"If you go in there, they will tear you to pieces," Altair told him. "And you cannot try and kill them from a distance without risking raising the alarm. They will not survive long, the men here will see to that, perhaps even before the new Regent discovers them."

Ibrahim stood up, looking from Altair to the dogs indecisively.

Altair stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the door. "Rashad deserves a proper burial," he said firmly. "Something we will not be able to give him if we are captured here."

After a moment, Ibrahim nodded and lifted Rashad into his arms. "Let us go, then."

As they made their way outside, Ibrahim's mind tormented him. Memories of Rashad's quick laugh were like a blade through his heart.

"We will not be able to get him to Masyaf," Ibrahim told Altair. "The guards will rip apart every cart for a week. But we can bury him outside the city wall, at least."

"Then, let's do that," Altair replied, eager to get Ibrahim back inside the Bureau. "It is less than he deserves, but I'm sure he would understand."

Ibrahim nodded numbly.

 _How can one of the best of men die in such a way? And what will I find when I reach the Bureau? Will I have two bodies to bury come morning?_


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: Surprise! I know I said it would probably be a while before I uploaded again but I had to write this. It was driving me insane, kinda like that itch you can't reach. Now, I have to be responsible and do more homework. Can't make any promises on the time-frame of the next chapter but, rest assured, it will come.

Shoutout to Flutteryshy2059123, ts-animalgirl, Magouille, Athenais Mona, BooBoo33, and WanderingMage011! Thank you so much for reviewing! And guys, seriously, let me know if I miss you in a shoutout. My brain is stuffed to capacity (and beyond) and it's happened before.

Enjoy!

* * *

Malik sat beside the bed, gently bathing Aliyah's face with a cool, wet cloth. The fever had come suddenly and with such frightening ferocity as to make the sufferer beg for death. She was silent and deathly still. The rise and fall of her chest was nearly indiscernible and he kept holding his hand over her mouth to see if she still breathed. The room was dark except for a single oil lamp and even in its warm glow, her skin was horribly pale.

 _What have I done?_

His mind tortured him with memories, hopes that now seemed lost and every action he should have taken instead of the ones he had. He prayed for her to move, even if it was just a finger, for a sound, for a breath he could hear.

 _Forgive me._

He brushed her hair away from her face and stroked her lips with his thumb.

 _Now, I realize…Why? Why did it take this to make me realize?_

 _Too often, we fail to realize how critical something is to our lives, until we no longer have it._

 _I still have her. She still lives! It is not too late!_

He clung desperately to the hope that she would awaken at any moment even as his despair tore at him, arguing that she was lost. He heard footsteps in the Bureau and froze, listening intently. When he only heard a second set, he sighed heavily.

The door eased open behind him and closed softly.

"Has she improved?" Altair asked.

"No," Malik replied. "Which one came back with you?" he asked, even though he felt he knew the answer.

"Ibrahim," Altair replied finally.

"And what of Rashad?" Malik asked wearily.

"We were unable to send him back to Masyaf, the gates are too closely watched," Altair told him. "But we were able to bury him outside the city."

Malik's shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. "And you and Ibrahim?"

"We are unharmed," Altair replied. "Pierre is dead. She succeeded."

Malik said nothing for a moment and sagged back in his chair. "I should take some comfort from that, I know."

"There is something else you must know," Altair told him gravely. "And I must say it here, otherwise, Ibrahim will prevent me from speaking."

"Speak, then," Malik told him.

Altair stepped closer to Malik's side. "Rashad…is responsible for this," he said. "Pierre had captured him and as a result, he knew to expect an Assassin."

Malik nodded, not taking his eyes from Aliyah's face. "Is that supposed to absolve me of blame?"

"What could you have done differently, Malik?" Altair asked, forcing the frustration from his voice.

" _Everything_!" Malik groaned in agony. "I could have done everything differently from the beginning. I never should have allowed her to join the Brotherhood. I never would have agreed to teach her. I never would have advocated for her. I never should have allowed any of it!" his voice grew hoarser with every word.

"When did _you_ teach her?" Altair asked in shock.

"Before she requested to join the novices," Malik replied heavily. "Then, once Al-Mualim consented, I stopped."

"What possessed you to do such a thing?" Altair asked.

"There was so much hope in her eyes when she asked me if I could teach her," Malik said, his voice becoming soft with the memory. Tears stung his eyes and he held them back stubbornly. "She said…she said that she wanted to become something new, because the world had no place for her as she was. I could not take that hope from her."

Altair said nothing, stunned that Malik, who had always advised caution, had been capable of skirting the rules in such a fashion.

Malik said nothing else and continued bathing her face to calm her fever.

 _I should have married you._ That _is what I should have done._ I _could have given you a place to belong…but I was afraid that, if I asked, you would see me as every other man, then. I was afraid…and so, here you are…_

Altair saw the exhausted slump of Malik's shoulders, the anxious desperation in his eyes and debated fiercely as to whether or not to finish his report.

"There is something else you need to be aware of, Malik," he said at last.

"And that is?" Malik queried tiredly. "Well?" he demanded when Altair said nothing.

"I am afraid there is no way to say this tactfully," Altair began.

"That has never stopped you in the past," Malik said, bitter scorn in his voice again.

"You need to be concerned about Ibrahim," Altair told him.

"Why?" Malik asked and his tone was that of Jerusalem's Dai.

"I tried to keep the severity of her condition from him, and failed," Altair went on. "Once he was aware, he became…volatile."

"How so?" Malik's voice held a different tone of concern.

Altair sighed, regretting his decision to speak of the matter. "We interrogated an archer in the Regent's palace to learn where Rashad was being kept. Ibrahim barely managed to kill him cleanly."

"Which one of you actually interrogated the archer, Altair?" Malik asked.

"He did," Altair replied.

"What else should I know?"

"When we found Pierre's body, his physician was in the room, as well," Altair continued. "Ibrahim nearly murdered him."

"And you stopped him?" Malik asked and his voice lacked the sarcasm Altair had expected.

"Yes, but before we left…he cut Pierre's head off," Altair finished, somewhat disturbed by the memory.

Malik huffed. "Perhaps, he will stay dead this time."

 _I should have done that years ago in the desert._

"Such were Ibrahim's thoughts," Altair replied.

"Why would you hesitate to tell me these things?" Malik asked. He remembered the fury he'd felt over Altair's transgressions and a part of him realized that he should be angry with Ibrahim's actions. He felt hollow, weak, unable to find the energy to feel anything more than vaguely disturbed.

"It is not my place to inform on your men," Altair told him.

"It is the place of every Assassin to see that the Creed is followed," Malik replied evenly, "not only for ourselves, but for our Brothers, as well. These are things I must know, Altair, regardless of anything else." He stood slowly, holding the basin of water. "I am the Dai," he said to Altair's curious expression. "I have other duties I must attend to."

The other men were huddled around the hearth holding bowls of cooling stew.

"I had hoped you would find Rashad alive," Khadim said dismally to Ibrahim.

"This day is cruel," Sabir added quietly. "Rashad is dead and…how long until we must dig a second grave?"

"Pray that is not required of us," Malik said, coming into the room, Altair behind him.

"Is it true, Dai?" Ibrahim asked painfully. "Is it true she may not survive the night?"

"It is true," Malik said heavily. His insides twisted painfully with the fear that, by speaking it, it would come to pass.

"Why did you keep this from us?" Ibrahim asked.

"I did not want that knowledge to cloud your judgement," Malik told him meaningfully, knowingly.

Anger burned in Ibrahim's eyes suddenly and he cast a dark look at Altair.

"Ibrahim," Malik said his name warningly

"Who is he to check my actions?" Ibrahim demanded hotly.

"It is the duty of every one of us to keep ourselves and each other in check," Malik told him firmly, struggling to keep the weariness out of his voice and speaking with a conviction he was too numb to feel. "The physician was an innocent, Altair was right in keeping you from killing him."

"He was responsible for each life Pierre took!"

"Because he kept Pierre alive through his injuries," Malik finished the argument. "A dangerous argument to make, Ibrahim. One that could justify the deaths of thousands and even more dangerous because you have the ability to bring about that result. Is that what you wish your legacy to be?"

"None of this would have happened if Pierre had died years ago," Ibrahim seethed. "Rashad would still be alive and Aliyah—"

"Aliyah's condition is the result of Rashad's betrayal," Malik told him.

Ibrahim took a half-step back, horrified. "You would tread on a man's grave?" he said. "You did not see what was done to him, Dai."

"No, I did not," Malik replied. "But I have seen the like before. Pierre broke Rashad, of that, I have no doubt, and in doing so, he forced Rashad to betray us. But, broken or not, the results of the betrayal are the same and Aliyah suffered the consequences."

Anger still burned in Ibrahim's eyes, but underneath it was a deep grief.

"That is not to say that his memory should not be honored," Malik continued. "It should, for as long as his memory lives. He died fighting our enemies and there is honor in that."

"I cannot accept that he betrayed us," Ibrahim stated fiercely.

"Accept it," Malik told him. "The truth is the truth, no matter how terrible it is. And if Aliyah dies, then she will have given her life to ensure our survival. If Pierre had replaced Majd Addin, the horrors that Rashad suffered would have been a mercy compared to what he would have done to the rest of us and the Templars would have Jerusalem firmly in their grasp."

A low murmur went through the group as they considered those facts.

"We will _not_ profane her sacrifice by pursuing mindless vengeance," Malik said firmly.

 _I speak as though she were dead already…_

Ibrahim lowered his eyes, deeply shamed by the rebuke.

"Get some rest," Malik told them. "We still have duties to perform."

The men nodded and headed for their beds, Ibrahim last of all.

Malik returned to his room with fresh water and bandages. Altair helped him redress Aliyah's wounds and was relieved to see no corruption in the injuries.

"For once, I was glad to hear you speak reason," Altair said. "You are not wholly responsible for this tragedy."

"Perhaps, one day, those words will actually provide me some comfort," Malik answered darkly, tying off a bandage. "Get some sleep, Altair."

"You will wake me if you need me?" Altair asked.

Malik knew it was not a request and a part of him was relieved that he would not have to face the night completely alone.

"Yes," he answered.

Altair sat down against the wall. "It was a good decision to bring her in here, Malik," he said as his eyes grew heavy. "You have everything you need close at hand."

Malik's heart fell as he was forced to face yet another terrible truth. "I did not bring her here to ease the difficulty of her care," he said softly as Altair's chin sank to his chest. "I brought her here so the others would not be forced to watch her die. I am the only one who deserves that."

 _You must live. I need you to live—I have far too many things to say to you. So many things I should have said long ago._

He stayed awake all through the night, never leaving her side. The fever burned fiercely and her hair clung to her ashen face. She never moved or uttered a sound, regardless of the number of times they changed her bandages. Then, just before dawn, Malik found her skin cooler to the touch. The fever had yet to break, but the change gave him a small hope that he was terrified to grasp.

Behind him, Altair stirred. "Dawn already?" he muttered.

"Finally," Malik replied, exhausted.

Altair stood with difficulty and the sudden flow of blood to his legs was painful. "Has anything changed?"

"Her fever has eased some," Malik told him. "But nothing else." He stood with a groan and they left the room.

The other men were quietly preparing to leave the Bureau.

"Does she live, still?" Ibrahim asked anxiously.

Malik nodded, seeing the exhaustion in the younger man's eyes.

 _Was the night a sleepless one for him, as well?_

"What are our instructions, Dai?" Khadim asked.

"Observe and listen," Malik told them wearily. "Report your findings to me this evening."

The men nodded and left the Bureau.

Ibrahim stayed behind.

"What do you need, Ibrahim?" Malik asked, gathering fresh cloths and bandages.

"Will you allow me to remain behind today?" Ibrahim asked quietly.

"I need you in the city today," Malik told him, somewhat puzzled by his request.

"I will go," Altair said. "I think it would be a wise decision."

Malik caught his meaningful look and glanced at Ibrahim. The younger Assassin's expression was anxious, showing no sign of his defiance from the previous night.

"Very well," he conceded.

"Thank you, Dai," Ibrahim said, his voice filled with relief.

Altair left immediately and Ibrahim fetched some fresh water from the well. He brought the pitcher and a plate of meat and bread balanced in the crook of his arm into Malik's room.

Malik looked up in surprise and nodded his approval. "Come and help me change her bandages," he said.

Ibrahim set his items down and moved to the bedside. He bit back a gasp of horror when he saw the punctures and lacerations that covered her.

"How is she alive?" he asked.

"I refuse to ask that question, Ibrahim," Malik replied. "Only give thanks that she is."

Ibrahim nodded.

Once they were finished, Malik sat back with a weary sigh. His eyes burned and every blink brought him closer to sleep.

"Eat and rest, Dai," Ibrahim said, standing by the bed. "I will watch over her."

Malik looked up at him and nodded, too exhausted to notice the tone of tender protectiveness in Ibrahim's voice. He barely managed to finish the food Ibrahim had brought him and slumped over in the corner near the door, his chin on his chest, instantly asleep.

Ibrahim poured the fresh water into the basin and sat in Malik's chair. She looked so vulnerable buried under the blankets, so fragile, though he knew she was anything but. Shame overwhelmed him once more as he recalled his actions in the Regent's palace and remembered the day she refused to assassinate Ra'id ibn Sabir, the man responsible for her years of torment, refused to take his life because it would not have been justly done.

 _Vengeance has no place in the Brotherhood._

He caressed her pale cheek and felt the fever beneath her skin. "You must live," he whispered. "My days will be dark, indeed, without you in them."

He did not awaken Malik and he did not leave her side. For the entire day, he bathed her face and spooned cool water between her lips and he talked softly to her of their days as novices.

"I could not believe my eyes when you went back for Abdul," he said as the light outside grew orange in the late afternoon. "Of course, I had never known what to think of you. I had never dreamed a woman would join the Assassins. You fought the hardest of us all, no matter what you faced and for that, you had my respect. Perhaps, that is what drove _my_ efforts. I will admit, I was worried when Al-Mualim gave you the task of killing Saamir. Not worried that you would fail, but worried that, failing meant I would never see you alive again. After that day, I started to believe that nothing was beyond you, that you could survive anything. I do not want to be wrong."

Malik stirred in the corner and rubbed his face groggily. "You should have woken me," he muttered when he realized the lateness of the hour.

"You needed the rest, Dai," Ibrahim replied. "Though, if something had changed, I would have."

Malik nodded and came to the bedside, caught between relief and concern that nothing had changed. "The others should return soon," he said. "Let us hope they have good news. Will you stay with her a moment longer while I prepare the evening meal?"

"Of course," Ibrahim answered immediately.

Malik made his way to the kitchen, seeing ghosts in every corner of the Bureau. He heard her voice in the rooms, her footsteps just behind him. Preparing the food was a far more laborious task than it should have been. He could see Kadar cooking at their campfires when they were on assignment, he saw Aliyah coming into the main room with a platter of food, making him stop working long enough to eat. He had never been on an assignment with her, never had the opportunity to see her work.

 _Will you keep something for me, Malik?_

Her request, what she had given him for safekeeping, haunted him. The sensation of her kiss came back to him and he put his hand over his mouth, unsure if he wanted to cast the moment from his memory or treasure it until his last breath.

 _She saved me, kept me from perishing in my grief and that was how I repaid her love._

The thought paralyzed him with agony and he shut his eyes as the room spun around him.

 _She loved me…she loved me and I sent her to her death._

He stirred the stew in the cookpot with single-minded devotion, unable to pull his mind from the darkness that had claimed it. She had reconciled the two parts of his life, his past and his present. Now, he had separated them once again and Malik al-Sayf the Assassin cared for Aliyah while Malik al-Sayf the Dai of Jerusalem attended to the duties outside.

The sound of footsteps in the Bureau caught his attention and he slid behind the shield his rank had become.

"Malik?" Altair called his name from the main room.

"I am here," Malik replied and moved the cookpot away from the fire. He walked into the room with the other Assassins. "How is the city?" he asked, leaning tiredly against the doorframe.

"Quiet…somewhat," Khadim replied. "The people are relieved that they are free from Majd Addin's reign and wait for a new Regent to replace him. The guards still search for us and moving about is difficult."

"I do not expect that to change for some time," Malik said. "Anything else?"

"Our reports are much the same, Dai," Farran replied for the group.

"Altair?" Malik's gaze shifted to him expectantly.

The Assassin shook his head.

Malik nodded, satisfied.

"How is Aliyah?" Khadim asked and the men looked at Malik expectantly, half hopeful, half anxious.

"She lives," Malik told them. "She has not awakened, but she lives."

Their relief was palpable and the tenseness faded from their tired bodies.

"There is food," Malik said, jerking his head toward the other room. "Eat and rest yourselves."

"You look a little more rested," Altair remarked when the others had gone.

"Ibrahim let me sleep for too long," Malik replied, walking past him to close the lattice door.

"You obviously needed the rest," Altair said.

"I was afraid to wake up," Malik confessed as he twisted the lock. "I was afraid of what I would find when I did."

"We were nervous of returning for the same reason," Altair told him. He could see the volatile emotions Malik kept restrained behind his impassive expression and was suddenly worried for him. "You are not alone in your concern for her."

"Concern," Malik's scoff was more of a despairing laugh. "I sent her to her death." He spoke the words as though he was pronouncing a sentence of judgement and walked back into the Bureau without another word.

Ibrahim looked up in surprise when Malik entered the room.

"Get some rest, Ibrahim," Malik told him. "I will care for her."

Ibrahim hesitated, then stood and left the room. Malik sat by the bed and pressed his hand to her warm forehead. She had not worsened but he dared not take hope from that.

 _Please, I only want the chance to correct my mistake._

The light outside grew dimmer as night approached and the Bureau fell silent as the men settled in for the night. Malik was exhausted to his very soul and the longer he stayed awake, the harder it became to do so. Slowly, his head sank to his chest and his eyes closed…

"Ma…lik…?"

He jolted awake instantly at the sound of his name and turned up the flame of the oil lamp by the bed. Golden light filled the room, revealing Aliyah's still form and closed eyes. Despair crashed over him. He'd been so certain she had spoken…

"Malik?" her lips barely moved and her fingers clutched the blanket painfully.

"I am here," he answered quickly, desperate to hear her voice.

She struggled to open her eyes and failed, lacking the strength. "Where…am I?" her voice was a breathy gasp and her words trembled weakly.

He had never heard a more beautiful sound. "You are safe," he told her. "You're in the Bureau."

"How did I get here?" she asked after a few difficult breaths.

The question stunned him. "You do not remember?" he asked after a moment.

"No," the word was breathed more than spoken and she finally opened her eyes.

 _You always had beautiful eyes, my star. I should have told you so long ago._

He suddenly realized that he did not know the answer to her question. "Do you remember killing Pierre?" he asked gently.

"No," she answered and her voice quaked. "No, I—I…Pierre…" her breathing became faster as panic filled her expression.

Malik cupped her cheek, shushing her gently. "It's alright, Aliyah," he hurried to reassure her. "Everything is alright."

"Pierre," she whimpered as terrified tears pooled in her eyes.

"He is dead," Malik told her. "We are safe."

She sighed deeply with relief and pressed her cheek against palm, her tears spilling over into his hand. He wiped them away with his thumb.

"Rest now," he said. "We will talk more in the morning."

She did not reply and he realized by her steady breathing that sleep had already claimed her. His throat constricted painfully and tears burned in his eyes.

 _Yes, we will speak more later. There are so many things you must know…things I must ask you._

He leaned over and placed a tender kiss on her cheek, tasting the salt of her tears as well as his own, and took her hand, pressing it to his lips as his body shook with sobs of relief.


	27. Chapter 27

A/N: Hihi! Finally managed to finish a chapter. It's not the longest one, by far, nor is it the shortest :) Some smallbig things happening here this time. Also some stage setting, primarily for Altair and Malik (kinda carry-over from the previous few chapters where it's obvious they're not so venomous toward each other) because in the game, the last time Altair goes to Jerusalem, Malik has suddenly forgiven him and they're using the phrase 'My friend' and such as that. Excuse me, but ? When did that happen? So, the last few chapters have been me answering that question for myself and the next couple will finish it up. Don't worry, Altair WILL NOT dominate the happenings from here.

Shoutouts to PianoGhost, Athenas Mona, Wandering Mage011, BooBoo33, im-an-elf99, DarcyfromdA, Magouille, and Fluttershy 2059123! Thank you so much for reviewing and I'm so glad you're enjoying! Welcome to the story, PianoGhost! Hope you stay for the rest of it!

OMG guys! 71 follows! I danced! It wasn't pretty, but I did :) thank you sooo much!

Enjoy!

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Light danced gently on her eyelids and she felt a heavy weight settled over and around her and just she was seized with panic, she breathed in a scent that instantly calmed her.

Malik.

She slowly opened her eyes, finding the effort far greater than it should have been. The weight on her chest was a pile of blankets and she realized that a pillow cradled her aching head.

"It is such a great relief to see you awake at last."

She turned her head gingerly and her heart skipped at the sight of Malik beside the bed. She looked around the room, finding her surroundings unfamiliar, then she realized where she was. "Oh…" she said slowly.

He huffed a laugh. "Do not let it trouble you," he said, his voice warm and gentle. "When you fell through the lattice, this was the closest room we could get you into to take care of your wounds."

"We?" she asked, her voice was still terribly weak but was significantly steadier than it had been the night before.

"Altair and I," he answered.

 _Altair…_

"Was he successful?" she asked worriedly.

Malik nodded. "He was."

"Sabir?" she asked hopefully.

"He is safe."

She sagged with relief. Malik felt incredibly guilty for allowing her to expend her minimal strength on speaking but his need to hear her voice was overwhelming.

"How did I get back?" she asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"To hear Ibrahim tell it, you flew over the walls," Malik replied with a small grin. He had had Ibrahim tell him everything they'd found before the Assassins had left that morning and it was a testament to their sense of duty that any of them had left once they knew Aliyah had awakened during the night. The day was half over now, and the hours had been agony for Malik as he waited for her to wake up again.

She smiled weakly in amusement. "He was never one to exaggerate," she said. "What has changed?"

Malik smiled, pride swelling in his chest as he remembered Ibrahim's report. "He was not exaggerating," he told her.

Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully and she winced at the sudden pain in the bruises on her face. As she tried to raise her hand to feel of her battered cheek, Malik leaned over and placed a cool cloth on her face and she realized she hadn't been able to move at all.

"Save your strength," he said.

"I don't appear to have any," she remarked tiredly.

"So says the woman who fought Death for two days and nights," he replied, "and won."

"I had you to help me," she replied softly. "You have always helped me."

"You credit me far too much," he told her, examining the bruise closely.

"Your dagger, Malik," she reminded him and he looked at her in surprise. "It has saved me more times than I can count."

He pulled that dagger from his belt and held it up. "You were holding this when you fell through the lattice," he said, fingering the tip of the blade thoughtfully. "What else do you remember?" The question was simple but there was an intensity in his eyes that he barely managed to conceal. He forced himself to not let his gaze fall to her lips.

 _Tell me you remember that, at least._

"I am…not sure," she answered slowly. "I know what happened, but…I cannot recall it. I do not know if that makes sense."

"It does," he said. "You know Pierre is dead but you don't know how or how you managed to escape. I'm sure it will come back to you."

"And if it does not?" she asked worriedly.

His mouth tightened into a grim line as he remembered Ibrahim and Altair's report about Rashad. "Then, perhaps it is for the best."

She nodded and he could see her mind working, trying to piece together what little information she had. She remembered one thing very clearly and her heart pulsed with panic.

 _Will you keep something for me, Malik?_

"Do not worry yourself over it," he told her, seeing the sudden furtiveness in her eyes. "For now, rest and regain your strength."

She seemed to calm and gave him an amused smile. "Is that a command, Dai?"

He tugged the blanket up to her chin. "It is a request from a friend," he replied. "But I will make it a command if I must."

She laughed, a breathy sound that turned into a coughing fit. He held a cup of water to her lips and let her take slow sips.

"I'll be just a moment," he said once she was done, and left the room.

She nearly burst into tears as the door closed.

 _What am I going to do? Oh, what have I done?_

She had wanted to kiss the man she loved before she died, and she finally had. But she hadn't died and now, Malik knew everything she had worked so hard to conceal.

 _What must he think of me? He is a good man, how dare I presume such a thing!_

The scent of him drove her into hysteria and she could think of nothing else but getting out of his room.

 _His room…his blankets…_

She shut her eyes to block the thoughts, determined to leave.

 _This is not right! This is not right! I cannot be here!_

She gripped the bed in as firmly as she could and struggled to pull herself onto her side, her wounds burning like fire.

Malik entered the room all of a sudden and rushed to the bed with a wordless cry of panic. He gripped her shoulder to stop her and she still tried to move.

"I knew—I knew you would try something foolish!" he exclaimed. "Be still before you tear your sutures!"

"This is not right!" her voice was a weak sob as she gave up and lay limply on her side. "This is not right! I cannot be here!"

Malik froze where he stood, suddenly understanding where she must see herself. He dropped to his knees. "Aliyah, look at me," he said gently.

Her eyes shone with tears. "This is not right," she said pleadingly.

"I cannot begin to imagine what this must be like for you," he said. "But you know, surely you know, that not one of us here would hesitate to give our lives to protect you. You are safe. Look at me," he said again, cupping her chin when she dropped her eyes. "There is no shame in where you are, nor is it a secret."

Her breathing steadied and the panic slowly left her eyes.

He pressed his forehead to hers. "Now, please, if not for your sake then for mine, _please_ lie still."

She nodded weakly and he stood. "Between worrying over my brother and worrying over you, I may not live long enough to have gray hair," he remarked.

His words surprised her. "I never knew you worried about me so much."

"I have worried about you from the very beginning," he told her softly. "And it only became worse when you joined the novices. Now, I am going to finish preparing a meal for us. Can I trust you to be alone long enough to accomplish that?"

She nodded.

"I want your word," he insisted.

"Yes," she said quietly and he left with a dubious frown. She would give him anything and he only asked for her word.

He returned with a bowl of soup tucked into his elbow and a plate of meat and bread balanced on his arm. As she had promised, she had not moved and he sighed with relief.

"I am sorry," she whispered contritely.

"You've nothing to be sorry for," he told her. "In a way, I suppose it is for the best. This way I don't have to move you myself," he added with a grin

She smiled weakly. "You always did emphasize anticipation."

He chuckled at those memories. "I think we would have worked well together. I regret that I never had the opportunity."

"So do I," she said wistfully. "I always wanted to."

He stalled their conversation by spooning soup into her mouth. The warm liquid soothed her throat and she felt a small measure of strength return. As she moved her arm at one point, her sleeve slid and she saw the dark gash Malik had sewn closed. Tears stung her eyes as another memory came back to her.

"Pierre killed Rashad," she whispered.

Malik paused and placed the bowl on the table. "Yes," he answered simply.

Tears slid down her cheeks and she pressed her face into the pillow. "What was done to him…was horrible," she wept.

He stroked her hair in an effort to comfort her and suddenly, the anger he had been too numb to feel crashed over him.

 _You nearly died because Rashad could not keep his silence! We all would have died if Pierre had lived!_

His anger was irreverent and illogical but knowing that did not lessen the heat of it.

"Rashad!" she sobbed.

He took a deep breath, ashamed of himself in the face of her grief.

"We were not able to take him to Masyaf," he told her regretfully. "But we buried him outside the city and gave him every respect we could."

She nodded weakly, crying too hard to speak.

"I was terrified I would have to put you in the ground beside him," he confessed quietly and his throat tightened.

 _I do not believe I would have survived that._

She sniffed as her sobs subsided. Malik tucked her arm back under the blanket, finding her limp with exhaustion. He petted her head tenderly.

"Try and sleep," he said.

She nodded, her eyelids already heavy and closing against her will. Malik sat by the bed, watching the steady rise and fall of her shoulder as she breathed, tracing every feature of her face with his eyes. At last, he forced himself to stand and clear their dishes but stopped before he touched them. Bending over her, he placed the lightest kiss on her forehead and brushed the traces of her tears away.

"I have never been so impatient for something as I am for your recovery," he whispered. "Rest well, my star."

He took the dishes out but left the door open to allow fresh air into the room. After cleaning up, he busied himself with numerous small tasks in the Bureau, listening for any sound that would tell him she had awoken. As the sun set, the lattice creaked and boots dropped to the ground. The Assassins strode in with more than their customary eagerness. Altair was not among them.

"How is Jerusalem?" Malik asked as he tidied his shelves.

"Quiet," Ibrahim answered. "Talk of a new Regent is circulating among the people but it is little more than rumors right now."

Malik nodded with satisfaction. "Good, perhaps things will continue to be quiet."

"How is she?" Ibrahim asked, unable to hold the question back any longer.

"She is stronger today," Malik told him.

Ibrahim's shoulders rose and fell in a sigh of relief and he looked toward the open door. As the others asked questions about her, he walked toward the room where Aliyah was.

"Ibrahim," Malik called his name warningly. "Do _not_ wake her."

"Of course not, Dai," Ibrahim replied and stepped quietly into the room. He caught his breath at the sight of her, still unable to reconcile the fierce, indomitable woman he had fought beside with the fragile, vulnerable one before him. Though she did not appear to be in pain, she lay so still that he felt the need to touch her to reassure himself that she was, indeed, alright. However, mindful of Malik's warning, he refrained.

 _You should be in a palace surrounded by finery with a husband who can protect and provide for you, not here fighting for your very life. I would never be able to give you the former, but I would certainly do my best to give you the latter._

His body trembled with exhaustion and his eyes threatened to close while he still stood. He had counted nearly every hour of every night while she had clung to life, only dozing in fits. He was glad Jerusalem was quiet. In his current state, he worried that, in a moment of confrontation, he would be too quick to kill…or not quick enough.

"Ibrahim," Malik called his name.

With one last look at Aliyah's sleeping form, he left the room.

"There is food," Malik told him. "You need to eat."

Ibrahim nodded wearily and made his way to the other room to join the others at the evening meal.

Boots landed outside.

"You are late, Novice," Malik told Altair as the Assassin walked inside, though his tone lacked its bitter bite. "Ibrahim said Jerusalem was quiet, have you learned something to the contrary?"

"No," Altair replied. "Jerusalem is quiet, but cautious, as well."

"That makes sense," Malik remarked, stooping to put a jar on a lower shelf. "After suffering the terror of Majd Addin, I would expect the people to be leery of the prospect of another Regent."

"That is true," Altair said. "But it is a sense of caution that may not be safe for us."

Malik looked up at him curiously. "I see," he said. "I suppose that makes sense, as well. After all, we cannot know how far Pierre's influence went."

"How is Aliyah?" Altair asked after a moment.

"She was awake for some time," Malik answered and Altair heard the relief in his voice, then, his expression turned grim. "She remembers what happened to Rashad."

Altair nodded slowly, recalling the gruesome state they had found their brother in. "What else does she remember?"

Malik's pulse skipped with alarm and something akin to guilt.

 _He could not possibly know…_

"Nothing else," he answered, his voice steady, giving nothing away. "I am certain that will change in time, though." He started walking toward the other room.

"I'm sure," Altair agreed, following him.

The other Assassins were sitting on cushions and talking quietly as they ate. Malik scooped some stew into bowls for Altair and himself and joined them.

"How soon until she has recovered completely, Malik?" Farran asked.

Malik gave him a reproachful look. "She has only awoken twice and for only moments each time," he replied. "I do not expect her to run the rooftops any time soon."

"Of course," Farran answered, abashed. "Of course, it is just such a relief."

"It is," Malik agreed.

"Altair," Ibrahim began slowly. "You had said that you saw Pierre die twice before. What did you mean?"

Altair took a moment to swallow a mouthful of stew before replying. "The first time, and Malik can attest to this, was in the desert on the way to Masyaf. We had rescued Aliyah from Templar guards outside of Damascus the day before. When Pierre found us, she and Kadar killed him in the battle. So we thought."

Malik nodded grimly.

"Then, some time ago, I was in Acre on an assignment for Al-Mualim," Altair continued. "I saw Pierre…" he trailed off, reliving the shock of that moment. "He was overseeing executions in the Square…"

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Patience...this happening deserved a little more than just a dialogue telling, I felt. It will happen, promise, even if I have to sacrifice (more) sleep.


	28. Chapter 28

A/N: DUN DUN DUUUUUNNN! I'm back! Is anybody still here? It's been a while, I know. For two months I've been drowning in term assignments that were positively murderous. But that will be over very soon and I can resume my regular(ish) uploads. It killed me that I didn't have time to write! All I could do was stare longingly at my laptop. Answered some questions here and not to worry, we will be getting back to Aliyah very soon :)

Shoutout to **i'm-an-elf99** , **Wildcat717** , **anita.w09** , **PianoGhost** , **LadyRaider92** , **MagicInTheStars** , **GrimmaulDee** , **Athenais Mona** , **Rahuratna** , **Fluttershy** **2059123** and **BooBoo33**! Love your reviews! Thank you so much!

Wildcat717, LadyRaider92 and MagicInTheStars, welcome to the story and I hope you stay a while :)

im-an-elf99, thank you so much for checking up on me. That was so sweet of you 3

You guys are the BEST! 81 follows and 64 favs! You wouldn't believe the squealing!

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Altair perched on the edge of the roof, observing the movements of the guards on the street below. Acre was nearly mad in its search for the man responsible for the death of William of Montferrat and he had seen the guards wrongly seize three different men in white robes. While the mistakes were fortunate for him, he worried what their fates would be if they could not convince the guards of their innocence. This concern, coupled with his confusion over William's dying words, drove him dangerously to distraction. He had been seen multiple times by the guards and each time it became harder to escape them.

"Assassin!"

He spun around in alarm and saw a guard charging him, sword drawn. He sprinted along the roof, precariously close to the edge. An arrow whistled past his head and another skipped over his boot, causing him to miss his footing and drop to one of the beams jutting out from the building. His momentum carried him forward and he leaped across them, looking for any route of escape. He could almost see the archer drawing his bow and his mouth went dry as the area of his back between his shoulders began to burn, anticipating the arrow.

The street below suddenly narrowed and he gathered himself and leaped across the expanse, reaching for purchase on the building ahead of him and hearing the faint rip of fabric as an arrow tore by his hood and buried itself in the wall. He almost missed the window and grasped the bottom of it desperately, swinging precariously by one hand.

"Stop him!"

Altair looked up to see who the guard was calling to and saw a second archer on the roof above him, taking aim at his head. He released his grip on the window just as the arrow buried itself in the wood and fell to the street, landing on the side of a cart. His breath exploded from him and he bounced off the cart and collided head first with a low stone wall. He struggled to his feet, leaped over the wall and nearly missed his footing on the stone steps below. He ducked down the closest alley and leaned against a wall, breathing hard. He touched the aching place on his head and his hand came away bloody and he could barely hear over the roaring in his ears.

"There he is!"

He looked up to see a guard pointing to the alley and he cursed in frustration. Mustering his last bit of energy, he sprinted through the dim alley, rounded the corner and dove into the remains of a house, barely managing to conceal himself behind the ruined front wall before the guards came running past. He held his breath and his chest and back felt as though they were on fire.

"Where did he go?"

Altair crawled farther into the building, just dragging himself out of sight when a guard walked up.

"Could he have hidden here?" he heard the man call back to the others.

"Find out! Kill him if he is!"

Altair curled his legs up under him and extended his hidden blade, preparing to spring onto the man if he rounded the corner. He heard the man's footsteps coming closer to where he hid, he could hear his nervous breathing.

"Bah!" the guard exclaimed under his breath. "Someone else can find him. I'm not dying for a dead man."

Altair didn't relax until he could no longer hear the guard in the building, then, he crept farther inside, climbed up to the second level and up to the roof where he flung himself gratefully into a rooftop garden. In the shade of his shelter, he pushed his hood back and gingerly touched the side of his head. Pain flared under his hand and he winced and cursed under his breath. He thought he could feel a gash beneath the blood matting his hair and he sighed in frustration.

 _What would Malik have thought of that?_

He had not suffered such a spectacular fall since his days as a novice and even then, Malik had admonished him for his recklessness as he helped him stagger back to the fortress. Altair's mouth quirked into a small smile that was both nostalgic and bitter. They had been close as boys, but that had changed when Al-Mualim made him a Master Assassin. He had always attributed the rift to Malik's jealousy but recent events had seeded his mind with doubts.

Many times in the past, Malik had exhibited skills that rivaled, and in some instances, surpassed, his own. The Creed was his lifeblood and Al-Mualim might have made him Master Assassin, but for the fact that Altair held their Master's favor. If Malik had been jealous, he would not have been without justification.

Altair scowled. _That could also be what fueled his criticisms._

He could recall nearly every scathing remark, every contemptuous scoff, every bitter rebuke and even the memories rankled him. He growled in aggravation and moved to leave his shelter. As he pulled his hood back over his head, his fingers sank through a hole in the fabric and he pulled his hood around to examine it. A chill shivered through him when he saw the long rip along the side and hole where the arrow had caught and pierced through the cloth. At that moment, he had not realized how close to death he had come and only had his carelessness to blame.

 _What would Malik have to say about that?_

He left the rooftop garden and dropped down to the street only to have a sword press into his back.

"You nearly died, then, Brother," Saadiq growled behind him and sheathed his sword.

"That is not the first time today," Altair replied, turning to face the Assassin.

"Nor will it be the last, I am sure," Saadiq remarked grimly. "William of Montferrat is dead."

Altair nodded, although Saadiq had spoken the words as a statement instead of a question.

"If you wish to leave Acre alive, you had best go now," Saadiq told him. "Most of the guards will be distracted by the execution in the Square soon. If you move quickly and quietly, you should be able to make it to the gate with little difficulty."

"Whose execution?" Altair asked.

Saadiq shrugged. "Whatever poor fool was unfortunate enough to receive Pierre's contempt."

Altair's blood ran cold. "Pierre?"

"Pierre Delacroix, Robert de Sable's favored representative," Saadiq said disdainfully, "and evidently someone else who fell beneath your notice."

Altair shook his head in denial. "He was killed on the road to Masyaf."

Saadiq smirked. "More knowledge you wrongly claim to possess," he replied. "I suppose some things will never change."

"No, Saadiq," Altair insisted, ignoring the barb, "I was there that day. I watched Kadar kill him."

Saadiq's mouth set in a thin line at the mention of the young Assassin. "Apparently his strike was not as true as we would have hoped."

"Will he be in the Square?" Altair asked.

"Undoubtedly," Saadiq had barely spoken the word when Altair pushed past him and made his way to the Square.

His mind raced as he weaved through the alleys.

 _This cannot be! Pierre is dead. I watched him die._

 _But if Kadar's strike was not true…he may very well have survived…_

The thought angered him, somehow.

 _The boy was still a novice. He had no experience. He never should have been with us on that mission._

 _He never should have been in Solomon's Temple, either…_

He shook his head to clear the quiet accusation and climbed to one of the roofs overlooking the Square and sheltered in a rooftop garden, spying through the curtains.

A crowd was gathered around the stage and he realized the execution had already taken place. The three men the guards had seized by mistake swung from the gallows and standing in front of them, arms spread as though accepting applause for a performance, armor glinting in the sun, was Pierre Delacroix. The sight of the dead men sickened him and guilt settled in his stomach like a stone.

"Assassins!" Pierre's sharp voice rang out. "How many more will you allow to die before you come forward to answer for your crimes?"

Wrath burned in Altair's chest.

So, it was not a mistake of the guards…

He left his hiding place, dropped into the alley and slipped into the edges of the crowd.

"What were their crimes?" he asked an elderly man.

"No crimes," the man replied. "No crimes. Bait to lure the Assassin out of hiding. Like a lion to meat."

"Hmph," Altair grunted and made his way closer to the stage, flexing his left hand in anticipation.

 _A lion, am I?_

He was mere feet from the stage with only a few people between him and Pierre. The Templar's guards were close but not close enough to pose him any danger. He extended his blade and his entire body was tensed to strike.

"DEATH TO THE TYRANT!"

He froze at the shout as boy no older than sixteen rushed Pierre from behind and plunged a dagger into the knight's neck. Blood spurted and the force of the attack knocked Pierre to his knees and the boy forced him onto his back. The soldiers charged the assailant and, as quickly as he attacked, the boy fled the stage and forced his way through the thinning crowd.

One of the guards knelt beside Pierre's body and gripped his throat to staunch the blood flow. "Do not let him escape! I want him to pay for this treachery!" he shouted as the guards ran after him.

Altair stared at Pierre's body, the blood spurting from the wound, coating the guard's hands. A part of him was relieved that the Templar was dead, another part was amused that one of his own had killed him, and yet another part was disappointed that the moment had been taken from him. He melted away into the crowd as it dispersed, panicked by the attack, and climbed to a nearby roof. He immediately ran in the direction the boy had taken, determined to find him before the guards did.

"Archers!"

He ducked behind a wall when the shout rang out and craned his head to see where the danger was. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the boy climb to a roof on his left and keep running. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Altair felt a small grin tugging at his mouth.

 _The boy is quick._

He ran in that direction, hoping he could reach the boy before the archers took his life. As he leapt to another roof, a guard stepped around a stack of crates, his sword raised above his head. Altair simply reacted, grabbed his arm and slammed his hidden blade into his chest, then running on with barely a catch in his stride. As he pulled himself up to a higher roof, he looked around but found no trace of the boy. Then, he saw him climbing over scaffolding ahead of him and just as far away as he had been before. An archer appeared on his right and Altair hurled a knife into the man's throat but not before he loosed his shot. The boy stumbled and reached down to clutch his leg as the guards climbed up behind him. He took off again at a limping run and dropped to a lower level, out of Altair's sight.

The Assassin started running again but hesitantly, unsure of which direction to take. The boy's path was incredibly erratic and impossible to predict. He headed toward the spot where he had last been visible and found a splash of blood and a broken arrow shaft. He followed the blood drops, which became a bloody boot print. The trail ended five roofs away and as he examined the area, he found a large smear of blood and the dust had been disturbed, swirled as though someone had done a poor attempt at sweeping.

 _Or someone used the dirt to pack a wound…_

At the sound of approaching guards, he flattened himself against the second story of another building.

"I couldn't keep up with him," one said in breathless aggravation. "I've never seen anyone run like that with an arrow through his leg."

"If you knew what was waiting for you if you got caught, you might be able to run like that yourself," another remarked.

"Well, they said they shot him off the rooftop," the voice grew fainter and Altair heard the creak of a ladder. "Now we just have to find where he landed. He can't run forever and if they stuck him like they said they did, he won't last long anyhow."

As they left, Altair walked carefully along the rooftop, looking for the archers. He spied one and stepped behind a rooftop garden. The man was staring fixedly in one direction, an arrow on his bow and he kept flexing the string, ready to fire. Altair stepped and flung a knife. As the man's body plummeted to the ground, the ensuing panic provided the distraction he needed and he sprinted across the rooftops in the direction the archer had been staring. If the guards had stayed above the streets, they would have had an easier time of finding their quarry than they would searching the winding alleys and side streets.

He came to a two story ruined home and stepped cautiously inside, finding himself at the edge of a hole in the rotted floor. Down below, he saw a bloody figure collapsed on the ground and he dropped through the hole.

The boy was in obvious pain but when he looked up, Altair saw relief in his eyes instead of fear.

"God extends his grace to me, even still," he said, his voice choked and dry.

Altair studied him and saw the broken end of an arrow in his leg, one through his left shoulder and another sunk deep in his abdomen.

"Our presence is not often looked upon with gladness," he remarked.

"But you have no interest in torture," the boy said hoarsely. "Even for your enemies."

"You slew my enemy," Altair told him.

"I served him first," he replied and a different pain entered his voice. "You, at least, would kill me quickly."

"I have no interest in killing you," Altair told him. "I have too many questions and you may have many of the answers." He knelt down and broke off the arrows shafts, ignoring the boy's cries of pain, and lifted him onto his shoulder, preparing to leave the structure.

"I think I saw him fall here."

He froze and swore, quickly stepping back inside.

 _I do not have time to fight them all off. I need this boy alive._

He turned to the back wall and tested it. The moment he found a weak place, he kicked through it and left, climbed the first ladder he found and headed for the Bureau. When he dragged the barely conscious boy through the lattice, Jabal stepped outside and his face instantly set in a bitter scowl.

"What is this?" he demanded. "Why have you brought that here? He is not one of us!"

"He killed Pierre Delacroix," Altair told him. "I believe that grants him some consideration."

"Oh," Jabal's eyebrows rose mockingly, "you believe so, do you?"

Altair's temper heated. "He has information I need, Jabal. His survival may benefit us all."

Jabal assessed him shrewdly. "It _may_ benefit us?" he repeated. "You are not sure he has the information you need."

"I am not willing to take the risk," Altair told him.

Jabal pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Very well," he said at last. "Bring him in here. Waseem!"

"Yes, Jabal," the young Assassin answered quickly, stepping outside.

"We have a wounded boy," Jabal told him.

Waseem nodded and rushed to prepare a bed gather the items Jabal needed.

Altair dragged the boy inside and laid him on the bedroll. The boy's face a pale and his breathing fast shallow.

"Mmm," Jabal looked him over with a practiced eye. "This wound and this wound," he pointed to his leg and shoulder, "I can mend. But this one," he pointed to the shaft in his stomach, "this one may kill him despite my efforts. Whatever your questions are, ask them now."

Altair nodded and leaned over the boy. "Who are you?"

"Samuel—Samuel Mainwaring," he answered, finding it harder to draw breath. "I was Pierre's squire."

"Why did you kill him?"

Waseem brought the supplies to Jabal and the Rafiq knelt down to examine Samuel's wounds more carefully.

"My father…has always served him faithfully…" Samuel said painfully. "Pierre planned…to kill him…once his work was done…"

"What is his work?" Altair demanded.

"He is…a merchant. He has always supplied…Pierre's needs, no matter the difficulty."

"A smuggler, then?"

"He has done so," Samuel answered. "All for Pierre."

"How do you know Pierre planned to kill him?"

Samuel bit back a groan as Jabal set about pulling the arrow from his leg. "Letters…he dictated his letters to me. At first, none of…them made sense. Then, I learned…I learned."

"Secret letters?" Altair found the notion alarming.

Samuel nodded. "We have all served him loyally…my entire family followed him here…to serve him! And he would kill us? I am the eldest son, my first loyalty…is to my family."

"How did Pierre survive the skirmish in the desert?" Altair demanded, his voice suddenly low and dangerous.

Samuel winced, both from the memory and Jabal's ministrations. "You have me to blame…for that, I believe. When he left Damascus…he left without his physician. We were one hour behind him…possibly two…We rode through the last night to…catch him and found him…shortly after the battle…ended. Jacques said that…the blade had missed his heart…and the sand packed the wound. Would that he…had spent his skills on…someone less of a monster."

Altair hissed through his teeth and Samuel cried out as Jabal pulled the arrow from his shoulder.

Kadar's strike had not been true, and so, Pierre had survived.

"You were his squire, what else do you know?" Altair asked.

Samuel's expression was growing vaguer by the moment. The boy was fading quickly. "I know…great deal…garrisons…routes…supplies…strategies…letters…" His voice trailed off and his body went limp as he lost consciousness.

"The ability to read the correspondence between the Templars would indeed be a great asset," Jabal remarked as he started working on the arrow in Samuel's abdomen. "For that alone, I would have kept him alive. You have done well, Altair. Return to Masyaf. I will see to him."

"Thank you, Rafiq," Altair said and stood to leave.

"Having a Templar squire as an Assassin would be a great asset also," Jabal added quietly as Altair left the Bureau.

As Altair climbed onto the roof, he looked back toward the Square, recalling the moments of Samuel's attack and the blood spreading over the stage.

 _I doubt even you could survive that._

With a sense of relief, he made his way to the gate and outside where his horse waited to take him to Masyaf.


	29. Chapter 29

A/N: Hihi! Soooo, guess what? Yup, fought with this chapter aaaaalllllll last week (spring break), and yes, I mean fought with it. The characters were giving me attitude, mainly Altair and Malik (go-figure, right?), and kept taking it down tangents and my thesaurus of a brain failed me horribly more than once. So when does the flow come back? Yup! You guessed it! Right when I get back and have to study for tests! *SIGH* I swear, when summer gets here I'm gonna take a week and just sleep.

Thank you guys so much for sticking with me. I know my uploads are sporadic at best and it's been a bit of a drought but I am still here! Promise!

Shoutouts to: Magouille, Flutteryshy 2059123, BooBoo33, Athenais Mona and LadyRaider92! Thank you sooo much for your reviews! They really made my day and I hated so much that I couldn't update. Who knows? Maybe I need the stress of having a pressing to-do list. Hope not (ugh).

I present to yooouuu...the much anticipated(?) Chapter 29!

BTW, just in case anyone would like to know, but this story is now 200+ pages (0.0)

Enjoy ;)

* * *

"Well, he did survive," Malik remarked bitterly.

Altair nodded. "I learned too late that the guard that went to save him on the stage was, in fact, his physician."

"What became of this…Samuel?" Ibrahim asked.

"He survived," Altair replied. "He is still in Acre working with Jabal."

"I hope that does not become a grave mistake," Malik said grimly.

"If it does, Saadiq will ensure that it does not last long," Altair told him. "Last I heard, Jabal was having a difficult time keeping Saadiq from killing him out of hand."

"Saamir's betrayal was especially bitter to them," Malik replied. "But Saadiq is not unreasonable."

"Perhaps Samuel will live long to benefit from that," Altair remarked.

"What are you thinking Farran?" Malik asked, seeing the troubled look on the man's face.

"Jabal is not a friendly man," Farran began slowly. "He has never been. But to think he would have refused to help the boy, even when it was obvious he would have died…that troubles me greatly."

"Jabal has only ever been loyal to the Brotherhood," Malik said. "But you must consider when Saamir betrayed us, it was not Assassins who attacked the Bureau, it was Templars and their soldiers. It is quite possible that he recognized the boy."

Altair looked at Malik in alarm. "Are you saying that Samuel may have been part of the attack?"

Malik shook his head. "From what you have told me, no. His attack on Pierre was brash, rushed, not the act of a man who had taken life before. But it is likely that Jabal had seen Samuel in the Templar's company on a previous occasion. To be asked to save one of them would have been a bitter cup, especially since Waseem was almost a casualty, himself."

"Why would he show Waseem special concern?" Farran asked.

Malik looked at the younger man in surprise. "Waseem is Jabal's son," he said. "Jabal took him in when he was only five years of age, Saadiq was ten."

"I did not know Waseem was Jabal's son," Dabir said in a wondering tone.

"I was unaware that _Saadiq_ was Jabal's son," Altair remarked, only to meet Malik's eyes and see the silent rebuke.

 _Why did you not know? The differences in our years is not that great._

Malik rose, filled another bowl and left the men to their conversation. Aliyah lay watching the door and he saw a certain happiness come into her expression when he walked into the room.

"How long have you been awake?" he asked with some concern.

"Only just now," she told him.

He nodded and set the bowl on the table and turned up the lamp, fighting to keep his hand from trembling. No other woman had ever looked at him like that.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"A little," she answered.

He could see the exhaustion in her drawn face, the shadows under her eyes, but her gaze was steady and he took great comfort from that. He sat by the bed and began feeding her small spoonfuls of the stew.

"It isn't Hashima's recipe," he said apologetically.

"It's very good," she assured him.

"No, it isn't, but thank you," he chuckled. "How are you feeling?" he asked after a moment.

"Tired," she said with faint smile.

"That is to be expected," he said. He set the spoon down and pressed his hand to her forehead, testing for a fever. She closed her eyes, savoring his touch with a certain guilt, aware of how things were between them.

 _Will he pretend it never happened? Will we continue our lives as they have always been? Will he make me leave under some pretense or another?_

"You are healing," he said, "and for that, I am immensely grateful. "You'll be running the rooftops soon."

"I don't know that I am healing that quickly," she said with an amused smile.

He grinned and fed her the rest of the stew. "Get some sleep," he said gently once she had finished and tugged the blanket over her shoulder.

"Malik," she called his name as he started to leave with the dishes. He turned back, looking at her curiously. "Would it be possible…tomorrow…for me to be outside?" she asked. "I would love to see the sun."

He smiled and nodded. "I am certain that can be arranged."

"Thank you," she said as she drifted off to sleep.

"Anything for you, my star," he said softly and half-closed the door behind him.

When he stepped back into the room, his Assassins were looking at him expectantly.

"She is resting, Ibrahim," Malik said as the younger man came to his feet.

Ibrahim sat back down, his mouth set in a tight, frustrated line.

"We all want to see her, Ibrahim," Farran said. "We have all been worried about her."

Ibrahim nodded curtly and picked up his bowl again.

 _Not like I have._

As Malik washed her bowl, he became aware of the silence in the room. When he turned back, he saw the men staring gloomily into their bowls and Ibrahim and Altair were the only ones still eating and he could see that even Ibrahim was severely distracted.

"Is this what you have been reduced to?" he demanded incredulously and they looked up with startled expressions. "We still have work to do and she would demand that you carry out your duties regardless of her state of health, would she not?"

"Of course, Dai," they murmured, suitably chastened by the rebuke.

"Then do not disrespect her by behaving like a litter of abandoned pups," he said sharply.

Altair's mouth twitched as he suppressed a grin and he nodded approvingly as the men finished their meal, cleaned their dishes and went to care for their gear.

"You set a good example for them," he said when he and Malik were alone.

Malik hesitated, testing Altair's words for mockery and finding none. "I doubt that," he said quietly and began wiping down the table they hardly used, busy-work that occupied his attention so that he didn't spend every moment worrying about Aliyah. However, Altair's remarks were making it difficult.

"Of course, it might have been a better example if they had actually seen how you agonized over her condition," Altair added. "And yet, you still managed to perform your duties."

Malik sighed and straightened. "Go on," he said resignedly, "speak whatever rebuke is in your mind."

Altair regarded him with surprise. "What rebuke? She has always been special to you, though I must admit, I was unaware of the extent. A man must care about something or else he is in danger of caring about nothing."

Malik studied him for a moment, struck by a vague sense of familiarity. "Where did you come by such wisdom, Novice?"

"I heard those words years ago from a man I once accused of caring too much," Altair replied quietly, shamed by the memory.

Malik started in surprise, suddenly remembering that day, as well. They had barely been men. During the months he, Altair and the others were practicing their teamwork, Kadar and the younger novices were learning how to fall properly. Kadar hadn't been the only one to suffer broken bones, but Malik had been the only one to purposefully miss the lessons to care for his brother. Altair had been furious, even more so when Malik was not punished for his absences.

"You see the good that came from all of my caring," Malik remarked bitterly.

"I see the good that comes from it," Altair said and glanced meaningfully at his bedroom door. "She lives because of your caring."

Malik sighed and propped against the table, watching the door. "Yes, she does. But my brother does not."

Altair said nothing. Malik's words lacked their usual bite but his memory accused him just the same.

 _Why did Kadar die, Altair?_

He'd had no answer to give Aliyah that day. At the time, he hadn't felt the question worthy of one, but for the last several months, memories of the young Assassin had begun following him like a second shadow.

"I have a request," Malik said quietly, swallowing the shame and bitterness that welled within him.

 _When she fell through the roof, I could only hold her as she bled._ He _was the one who carried her inside so that I could tend her wounds and now, I have to rely on him_ again _. For her…for her, I shall ask._

"And that is?" Altair asked when Malik hesitated.

"She has asked to be outside tomorrow," he continued, straightening his robe with a quick jerk, a movement that compensated for his inability to cross his arms, "and I am not certain of how strong she is."

Altair recognized the defensive gesture and saw the resentment in the sudden hardness in Malik's expression and suddenly remembered that he had been the one to carry Aliyah inside the Bureau.

 _I carried her because you could not._

Malik stood side-on to him, blocking his view of the empty left sleeve.

 _Why did Kadar die, Altair?_

The question plagued him and though he finally had an answer, it brought him no comfort.

 _I don't know._

Malik had lost his left arm to the physician's blade after he returned to Masyaf with the treasure…alone. If Kadar had been with him, they might have been able to save his arm.

 _Perhaps…if_ I _had been with him…_

He saw Malik's hard expression and realized just how deeply he resented being forced to ask for help.

 _Especially my help._

"I'll stay behind in the morning," he answered. "Some time in the sun would do her some good."

Malik nodded, relieved by the gracious answer. "I thought so, as well," he said. "Thank you."

"Malik, I am no fool," Altair said grimly. "I know you do not trust me, that I am the last person you wanted to see in Jerusalem. But, in light of that knowledge, I must ask why…why, when there are so many others here who have done anything to help care for her, would you ask me?"

"I don't know," Malik said after a moment. "I would have preferred to have needed no help."

Altair scoffed a laugh. "And they call me prideful."

Malik cast a dangerous glance in his direction. "Consider your next words very carefully, Altair," he said in a low voice.

"Is that not a common trait among us?" Altair continued as though he had not heard. "Do we all not prefer to work alone?"

"Do not presume to speak for me," Malik's voice was a dangerous hiss.

"You said it yourself, just now," Altair reminded him coolly.

"And once, there was a time when I would not have needed help!" Malik snapped. "At first, you were the only one there. I was shocked when you offered to stay and even more so when you insisted but even then, I did not put my trust in _you_ ," he continued dimly, "I put my trust in the memory of how things used to be."

Malik's bitterness was palpable and Altair instantly regretted goading him. He pushed his hood back and ran a hand through his dark hair with a sigh.

"What have you done now?" Malik demanded.

Altair glanced up, surprised to hear that old, scolding tone after so many years. "What are you talking about?" he asked, utterly baffled.

Malik scowled, strode over to him and roughly parted his hair, revealing a fresh scar. "You misjudged a jump," he stated flatly, recognizing the injury.

Altair scowled, as well, refusing to reveal the mistakes he'd made in Acre. "It's nothing," he growled and batted Malik's hand away.

Malik scoffed and shook his head. "I let you help me care for her and you can barely care for yourself," he muttered as he walked away.

"If you disapprove of my methods so much, keep one of the others in the Bureau," Altair responded in the same disparaging tone.

"I would," Malik replied as he clattered dishes, "except that I find you far better suited to this work."

"Except that you have yet to make any complaints as to my work in the city," Altair countered. "For once."

Malik started to argue, then stopped when he realized Altair was right.

"Then again, it may simply a lack of opportunity," Altair went on.

Malik cast a sardonic look over his shoulder.

"Of course, when has there not been an opportunity for you to criticize me?" Altair conceded reluctantly. "But you must admit that my work in Jerusalem has been satisfactory."

Malik shrugged. "Satisfactory," he said and almost managed to make the word an insult.

"And yet, for Aliyah's care, you _prefer_ my assistance," Altair pointed out smugly as though he had won a victory.

"I congratulate you," Malik told him. "You have managed to become both valuable _and_ dispensable."

Altair stared at him, speechless, but the humor in Malik's eyes belied the sarcastic bite of his words. Altair sat back with a frustrated growl, then looked up in surprise when he heard Malik's laughter.

"What?" he demanded.

"I just remembered something Kadar said years ago," Malik said coming into the room with two cups in his hand, his voice soft with nostalgia.

"What's that?" Altair asked as Malik offered him one cup. The rich aroma wafted up from the dark liquid and he inhaled it appreciatively. "Qahveh," he sighed gratefully. "It has been some time since I've enjoyed this."

Malik sat across from him and took a cautious sip of the hot drink. "That was the last of it," he said. "When we were leaving Damascus that day," he began answering Altair's question, "before we found Aliyah, Kadar commented that you and I bickered like brothers."

"Mmm," Altair grunted, sipping his drink. "I remember."

"I denied it, then," Malik added.

"As well you should have," Altair remarked derisively.

"Yet, here we are," Malik pointed out.

 _Still bickering as though…nothing has changed._

* * *

Aliyah lay awake in the darkened room, unsure of what had pulled her from her dreams. Her body ached and she felt as though her heart would burst as she listened to the conversation between Malik and Altair.

 _He is healing, Hashima. I wish you could see him._

Happy tears pooled in her eyes and she snuggled farther under the blankets and began to drift off again.

 _Knowing you are healing is more than enough. Even if I have to leave…You will be alright. You will marry a good woman and have many children…sons who will become men like you…_

* * *

Ibrahim came into the room with a bedroll.

"I thought this might help, Malik," he said, setting it down. "It isn't a bed, but it's better than the bare floor."

Malik nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Ibrahim."

Ibrahim nodded, cast doubtful glance at Altair, and went to turn in for the night.

Malik set his cup down and went to arrange the bedroll close to his bedroom door.

"Would you like help?" Altair asked.

"I'm crippled, not incapable," Malik replied blandly without looking at him.

Altair smirked in amusement, finished his drink and turned in for the night.

Malik doused the lamps in the room and rolled himself into the blankets, only then realizing that Ibrahim had given him Aliyah's bedroll. His pulse quickened as he breathed in the faint, lingering scent on her blankets and he felt her lips again.

 _How do I speak of this to you? I did not realize then, that you were telling me goodbye…but you survived…is it now something you regret?_

Sleep taunted him, hovering just beyond his reach all night and when the sun began to rise, he got up to prepare breakfast, feeling exhausted and restless. His thoughts tormented him as he cooked.

 _How do I speak of this? When do I speak of this?_

"Did you sleep at all, last night?" Altair asked from behind him, see the exhausted tension in Malik's posture.

Malik started violently at the unexpected voice and nearly dropped a plate.

"Are you alright?" Altair asked in concern.

Malik sighed. "No," he confessed. "I have not been for some time now."

"You needn't worry so much, now," Altair told him reasonably. "She is alive and recovering. The worst is over."

Malik nodded tiredly. "I know."

"Perhaps, it is best that I am out in the city," Altair said, taking an apple from a bowl. "Instead of you, that is. As distracted as you are, Jerusalem would need a new Dai before the sun set."

"What—!" Malik turned to berate him and dropped a loaf of bread into the fire. He dropped to his knees and snatched it from the coals, cursing as he burned his hand, and dropped the loaf on a plate.

Altair smirked and bit into his apple. "Whose meal is that?" he asked, nodding toward the plate of meat, fruit and burned bread.

"It _was_ Aliyah's," Malik told him acidly. "Now, it's yours." He pushed the plate into Altair's chest, forcing him to take it and began cooking another loaf, studiously ignoring Altair. As the other men came in and took their plates, he left to check on Aliyah. When he walked into his room, he found her stirring the dust glittering in the sunlight with her finger.

"Oh," he said worriedly.

She looked at him, surprised by the concerned look on his face. "What is it?"

"It is definitely a good idea to get you out of this room for a while," he said. "Otherwise, you just might go mad."

She smiled. "I'm too tired to go mad."

"Good," he commented with a light laugh.

"Do I get to be outside?" she asked.

Something about the innocent simplicity of her question constricted his throat. "Of course," he said.

"Good," she said, relieved.

"You said you were too tired to go mad," he remarked.

"But not too tired to not want out of bed," she told him.

He conceded with a nod. "Fair enough."

However, as the men left, a longing look came over her face as she listened to the creak of the lattice.

"Are you certain?" Malik pressed.

She smiled faintly and nodded, then looked past him as Altair stepped into the doorway. "Safety and peace, Altair," she greeted him.

"Upon you, as well, Aliyah," he replied. "It's good to see you awake."

"I am glad to be awake," she answered.

"Malik said you wished to be outside today," Altair remarked and she saw the barest tensing in Malik's posture.

"I would love to be outside," she said.

Altair stepped to the bedside. "Give me your arm," he instructed.

She hesitated. "I think I can manage on my own," she said.

He straightened and looked down at her with a dubious frown. "Hold out your hand," he told her and held his right hand out flat.

She did as he said and there was a visible tremor in her hand.

"I think not," he said and bent to lift her up.

She pushed against his chest and he stepped back, realizing with a pang that she had actually struck him.

 _Not so long ago, she might have cracked bones._

"I am _not_ some helpless woman," she said, her eyes flashing with angry tears.

"No," he agreed. "You are a woman who danced with Death for two nights."

Her mouth tightened into a defiant line and he realized that it was not the help she resented, it was _his_ help.

"Aliyah," he began slowly, "you saved my life. I would like to…repay that, in some small way, at least."

Malik started in surprise. "When did this happen?"

"When I came for Talal," Altair told him, "and you had her shadow me. In one of my confrontations with the soldiers, there was one guard I did not account for."

"You neglected to tell me _that_ ," Malik commented to her.

She shrugged one shoulder. "It seemed a trivial thing."

 _I can hardly believe he admitted all of that!_

"Only you would think so," Altair replied dryly and when he bent to pick her up this time, she allowed him. He carried her to the cushions outside and gently placed her on them while Malik stacked others against the wall for her to lean back against. Then, he draped a blanket over her.

"I'll fetch your breakfast," he said.

Altair listened carefully to his retreating footsteps, then he knelt beside Aliyah. "What made you go to Solomon's Temple?" he asked quietly, his expression troubled.

The surprise on her face was quickly replaced by a deep grief and a quiet, dangerous anger. "They took everything from him," she said. "But they will never count it as a victory."

 _You cost him everything…_

He recalled her words and the vehement anger behind them perfectly, but the chill in her eyes as she spoke unnerved him. Though she had not advocated for his death, he realized that honor and orders may have been the only reasons she had not hunted him just as ruthlessly.

He stood to leave.

"What made you go back?" she asked.

He hesitated. "I don't know," he said at last and climbed out of the Bureau.

Malik came outside with a plate in his hand and another balanced in the crook of his arm.

"Where is Altair?" he asked.

"He just left," she answered.

"Ah," he nodded and knelt down to let her take the plate off his arm. He put his own plate down and went to retrieve a pitcher of water and cups. As he walked back outside, apprehension filled him and he suddenly felt nauseous.

 _I need to know! How do I ask you?_

He paused inside for a moment, watching her tear her bread into small pieces and he drank in the sight of her. With a deep breath, he steeled himself and walked outside.

"I was afraid that when I asked to be outside, you would say no," she said, concentrating on her plate.

He paused with his mouth open and all of his questions stalled. "Why?" he asked.

 _As though I could deny you anything._

"I was worried that you would think it was too soon," she explained.

"It will be good for you," he said, hardly realizing how easily they had fallen into a conversation.

After breakfast, he busied himself inside the Bureau and Aliyah dozed in the sun. When the men returned that evening, Altair carried her back inside and Malik settled her into bed. For the next several days, Altair would carry her outside in the morning and back inside in the evening. Then, one morning as she lay awake watching the sky lighten ever so slowly, her frustration built until she felt as though she would burst. Tucking her robe tightly around her body, she pushed the blankets back and slid her legs over the edge of the bed until her feet touched the cool floor. Mustering her courage, she forced herself to sit up, then, gripping the table in a white grip, she held her breath and stood. When she felt no pain, she could have sang for joy. However, when she took a small step forward, she collapsed to her knees with a groan of frustration.

Suddenly, the door opened and Malik's shadow fell across her.

"What are you doing?" he exclaimed hoarsely, rushing to her side.

"I stood," she said, exultant. "I can stand. I just wanted to see if—"

"If?" he prompted, putting a hand on her shoulder, unsure if he was steadying her or himself.

"I wanted to see if I could walk," she told him.

"Well?" he asked.

"Well," she laughed, "I am on floor _now_ , so…"

He laughed nervously. "Yes, well…"

"I suppose you'll put me back to bed," she said in a disappointed tone.

"That might be best. Unless…you think you might be able to walk with assistance," he said, both hopeful and worried.

Her face brightened instantly. "Yes, I—I think so."

He held out his hand and she gripped his hand and let him help her to her feet. Then, he carefully escorted her into the main room. Even that short distance tired her and by the time he got her to a cushion, she was clutching his arm in a shaky grip.

"Are you alright?" he asked as she sat down.

She nodded. "I'm fine."

"I should have breakfast ready in a moment," he said, standing.

"I wish I could help you," she said.

He smiled and went to finish preparing the meal.

 _So do I._

The far door opened and Ibrahim entered the room from their sleeping quarters.

"Aliyah!" he exclaimed in delighted surprise and in his relief, nearly every measure of restraint abandoned him as he hurried to her.

The others rushed in after him and Altair strode slowly through the room and made his way to Malik. He chuckled at the sight of the men gathered around Aliyah. Only Ibrahim had seen her during her illness and then, only briefly. Even during her days outside, she had spent a great deal of time sleeping and they had taken great pains to avoid waking her.

"You were right," he said quietly to Malik. "A litter of pups."

"After everything that has happened," Malik replied, "Sabir's capture and Rashad's death, it is understandable."

"It is," Altair agreed.

"How do you feel?" Ibrahim asked her.

"I am alright," she assured them all. "I am," she insisted upon seeing Ibrahim's doubtful look. "Perhaps, not completely, but enough. I can stand on my own and I can almost walk on my own." She held out her hand, satisfied when there was only the barest tremor.

"Now is the time for a knife throwing competition," Khadim remarked.

"That would hardly be fair!" she exclaimed indignantly though she couldn't keep from smiling.

"But the rest of us might have a chance of winning," he insisted.

"I would not count on that," Ibrahim commented as they laughed.

"Are you certain you are alright?" Farran asked as he sat down with his plate.

"Yes," she assured him. " _Brothers_ ," she quieted them as they all began to echo Farran's question, "I have spent _days_ unconscious and sleeping. I want to know about the city. What is happening?"

They all began talking at once. Malik stood to one side watching the group, drinking in the sight of her smile, the alertness of her gaze and her cautious, yet precise movements. Only then did he allow himself to relax into the knowledge that she was, indeed, alright.

"Time is passing, Brothers," she said suddenly, "and we have duties."

They nodded and she smiled at their reluctant frowns.

"Malik is not the only who needs your reports," she told them with a laugh.

Her words coaxed grins from them as they left the Bureau.

Malik approached her and put his hand on her shoulder. "What is it?" he asked, seeing her blink away tears.

"I caught myself looking for Rashad just now," she said as their shadows vanished. "Somehow, I'd…forgotten that…"

"I understand," he said softly. "I still find myself waiting for Kadar to walk through the door and at times I…I could almost persuade myself that I hear his voice."

She nodded painfully and took a deep breath to steady herself.

"I must go to the souk," he told her after a moment of silence. "Can I trust you not to do anything foolish while I'm gone?"

She looked up at and gave him a faint smile of amusement. "Yes."

He frowned at her doubtfully, then went to his room and closed the door. When he emerged a moment later, he was wearing his white robes and she caught her breath at the sight of him.

"I won't be long," he promised and left the Bureau.

She released her held breath in a sob as tears filled her eyes. "Oh, Malik," she whispered hoarsely as pain knifed through her chest.

 _What am I going to do?_

Longing and humiliation crashed over her and she closed her eyes as the room spun, certain she was going to be ill. For all of his concern and gentle care, he seemed to want to live as though what she had done had never happened.

 _If that is how he wishes it to be, I will find a way to live with it._

She steadied herself with a deep breath and clenched her hands.

 _If he wishes things to be as they were, then that is what I will do._

She looked around the room and her gaze fell on the table several feet away.

 _If things are to go back to the way they were, then I must be able to perform my duties._

She gritted her teeth and slowly forced herself to her feet, focusing on the table with fierce determination.

 _But first, I have to be able to walk._

* * *

Malik counted out the merchant's money, gathered up the light blue robes and scarf he had just purchased and placed them in his satchel along with his spices and other various items.

 _Now, she will have something else to wear, at least, until she can wear her robes again._

The sudden memory of her in that black robe quickened his pulse and forced him to catch his breath.

"Malik."

He looked toward the voice and saw Altair in the shadow of an alley.

"What brings you out?" Altair asked once Malik joined him.

"Errands," Malik said. "When you see the others, you might want to tell them that we are running low of provisions."

"I will tell them," Altair replied. The sight of Malik in his old robes was a little unsettling, especially with the left sleeve pinned to his side. "Where is Aliyah?" he asked, suddenly concerned.

"In the Bureau," Malik replied. "I have been out too long. I must return before she gets into mischief."

Altair chuckled. "Safety and peace," he said.

"Safety and peace," Malik replied and walked away. He made his way to the rooftops and quickly headed for the Bureau, suddenly anxious.

 _I most certainly have been gone too long._

He dropped through the lattice and hurried inside to find that she had left her cushion and was clutching the far edge of the table in a white-knuckled grip. He strode to her and she gasped in surprise when he wrapped his arm around her waist and practically carried her to the bedroom. When he sat her down on the side of the bed, she looked up at him with wide eyes, like a child caught sneaking treats.

He sighed in frustration. "Do you remember, when I told you that between worrying over my brother and you that I may not live to have gray hair?" he asked in a deceptively calm voice.

"I do," she said slowly, bracing for his reproach.

"I could almost be persuaded that you're trying to hasten that result!" he exclaimed.

She winced and dropped her eyes. "Malik, I—" she began, her voice soft and contrite. "I only…"

He dropped his knees and cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Every time you do this, you risk causing yourself more injury," his voice was pained. "Which will only prolong your recovery. Why will you not be patient?"

 _Let me take care of you, my star._

She nodded, grieved that she had upset him but he saw the stubborn purse of her lips.

"I will not ask you to promise that you will cease this foolishness," he told her. "I only ask that you be careful. Rest for a moment. It will not do to have you collapse."

She nodded again and laid down and he stroked her hair back from her face.

"Stay here," he instructed and left the room.

When he returned some time later, he found that she had dozed off and he hesitated to wake her. Her skin was regaining its healthy flush and her breathing was quiet and steady and all he could think about was how close to death she had been. He touched her shoulder gently to wake her.

"Come with me," he said and helped her to her feet. He took her to the washroom where a tub of steaming water waited and fresh clothes were set out for her.

"Thank you, Malik," she said with some surprise.

"Only…promise me you will be careful not to drown," he said, his brow furrowed with worry.

She laughed. "That _would_ be embarrassing."

"Yes," he commented dryly. " _That_ is precisely what I was thinking."

When he left the room, she carefully shrugged out his robe and unwound her bandages. The sight of the dark, scarring skin unsettled her and she gripped the side of the tub as she remembered every wound as it happened.

 _The arrows chased me as I ran…as I climbed…_

She stared at her scars, feeling each slice of every shot that missed and every impact of the ones that did not.

 _Pierre waited…he did not even draw his sword until I had almost reached him…I do not remember drawing Malik's dagger, only putting it through his hand…he drew his knife then…_

Her hand strayed to the deep scar in her side where Pierre had driven his blade.

 _I blocked his first strike, but not his second…but neither could he block mine…_

She remembered plunging Malik's blade into his neck and her notched hidden blade into his heart even as she felt her strength ebbing away. She held him there until he collapsed to the floor and his pale eyes dimmed, and then…

She remembered waking and hearing Malik's voice tell her she was safe and brief snatches of memories of the rooftops passing beneath her as she fled the fortress, beyond those vague images, she could recall nothing.

 _Perhaps, that is best…_

However, her mind would not quiet and she shook her head in frustration. She tested the water and climbed into the tub and immediately submerged herself in the hot water. The pain of the water on her healing wounds registered suddenly and she groaned and surfaced, gasping for air.

 _Do not cry out! He has worried too much, already._

She ground her teeth and refused to make a sound and the pain slowly eased. Moving ever so carefully, she began to comb her hair with her fingers and suddenly spied two small bottles by the tub.

 _Malik, did you…?_

She uncorked one and the lightest fragrance wafted up and she sighed blissfully as tears came to her eyes over his thoughtfulness.

 _Oh, Malik, I wish…how I wish you could love me. Such things make it seem a little less impossible._

She washed her hair and then relaxed in the water until it began to cool. She climbed carefully out of the tub and investigated the second bottle, finding it full of a sweet smelling oil. She massaged it into her scars and when she slowly moved toward the light blue garments, they did not seem to hurt so much. She touched the dress hesitantly, trying to remember the last time she had felt fabric so soft. She finally put it and the robes on, dried her hair and tucked it under the scarf.

 _Such pretty things. Why would you give me such pretty things, Malik?_

She faced the door and stopped herself from gripping the edge of the tub. Clenching her teeth, she took cautious steps toward the door, testing each one before attempting the next.

* * *

Malik had changed his clothes and put his robes away with some reluctance. He stood over his table working on his map but only exerting a half-hearted effort.

 _She should be finished by now._

As he had the thought, he looked up and saw her walking slowly down the hallway. He caught his breath at the sight of her as the image in his mind of her in black was completely replaced by one of her in her light blue robes. Then, he finally realized what he was seeing and he opened his mouth to protest as she came into the room.

"What—"

"I am alright, Malik," she assured him. "I promise." She stopped and leaned against the wall. "It doesn't really hurt, it's…more like my legs have forgotten how to move."

"You still need to sit down," he insisted and came around the table.

"I have been lying down and sitting for days," she told him, a pleading sound in her voice.

"I am aware of that," he told her.

"If you will not let me move about, will you at least give me something to read?" she asked. "Else I _shall_ go mad."

"Well, far be it from me to allow _that_ ," he remarked and went to pull a book from the shelf. "Here," he handed it to her.

"Only one?" she asked.

"Well…for now," he said, somewhat taken aback.

"But then I shall have to walk in here for another when I finish it," she said, her eyes alight with mischief.

He cocked his head disapprovingly. "Do not test me, Novice."

"Or…you will send me back to bed?" she asked cheekily. "That is an even greater distance for me to walk."

He sighed, frustrated that he had nothing to say. "Be gone with your impudent self," he said gruffly and turned back to his table.

"Yes, Dai," she said and he snapped around and gave her a sharp look but she could see the grin tugging on the corners of his mouth.

As she left the room, pain knifed through him.

 _Does she not remember? Or is she choosing to forget?_

 _I must know._

He went into the next room after her.

"Aliyah," he called her name as his stomach knotted painfully.

She turned and looked at him curiously.

"We must talk," he told her and watched her curiosity change to dread.

"Very well," she said shakily, feeling the blood drain from her face.

"That day," he began slowly, "before you left to assassinate Pierre—"

She shut her eyes painfully. "Malik, I—I never…never should have…"

"Do you regret it?" he asked, anxiety threatening to choke off his voice.

"It was selfish of me," she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes. "Forgive me, _please_ …It was selfish."

"Forgive you?" he repeated in shock. "Forgive you what?"

She covered her mouth as though she was about to be ill and tears slid down her cheeks. "You are a good man, Malik. An honorable man. I never…never should have presumed to…" she stopped to catch her breath.

"Aliyah, what do you see that makes you believe you are so lacking?" he asked in a pained voice.

 _You loved me and I sent you to die._

"How long have…have you…?" he couldn't finish the question.

Through her tears, she gave him the sweetest smile. "Forever," she said quietly. "From the time I was a child, imagining the man I wanted to marry. It was always you." She sighed. "As to what I lack…I could more easily count the things I do not. You…you deserve so much _more_."

He saw it then, in her eyes, that she would willingly step aside for another woman—no— _insist_ that he take another woman as a wife—

"No," he said aloud, vehemently denying the thought that caused him more pain than losing his arm to the physician's knives. "You… _you_ are far more than I could ever deserve even if I were to live a thousand years."

She shook her head, denying it.

"I should have married you years ago," he told her and her eyes went wide with shock. "But for my cowardice, I would have."

"Cowardice?" she repeated, her voice nearly inaudible.

"I was afraid," he said. "Afraid that, if I asked, you would see me as every other man. For that, I will be always be ashamed. But I should have."

"And then what?" she asked despairingly. "I cannot give you children, Malik. I will _never_ be able to give you children! At the very least, you deserve that…sons who will become men like you."

"Aliyah, I would rather have you by my side than a hundred sons to carry on my name."

She sagged back against the wall, suddenly feeling weak. "Malik, you don't know what you're saying."

"Do you truly expect me to choose establishing a bloodline over the woman I love?" he asked, coming to stand a mere arm's length from her.

She could only stare at him, certain she was about to faint.

"Aliyah, you…you are my star," he told her, tears coming to his eyes and choking his voice. "The light that guided me from the darkness of my grief. I never want to face another day without you by my side. I love you. I have from the beginning."

"What did you say?" she all but gasped the question.

He saw the fear beneath her hope and he smiled and tugged her away from the wall. "I love you," he told her.

The strength left her legs and she clutched his robe to steady herself. She was so close to him, if she raised her head she was sure their lips would touch.

"I am a man of few possessions," he told her, "and I only have one thing of real value…I would give it to you…and you only."

She raised her eyes and saw the earnest sincerity of his gaze. "What's that?"

He crooked his finger under her chin, tipping her face up to him and pressed a tender kiss on her lips. She tightened her hold on his robe as she melted against him, suddenly terrified that she was in the grip of a fever dream. Then, he released her and she desperately wished he hadn't.

"Marry me, my star," he urged, caressing her cheek with the back of his hand.

She looked up at him, lost for words. "Malik, I—"

He kissed her again, more insistently, his hand on the back of her neck and felt her arms go around him.

Her heart was pounding painfully and he was holding her and she never wanted him to release her.

 _Impossible wants! All of it was never more than an impossible want!_

 _Not so impossible…_

He pulled away and pressed his cheek against hers. "Marry me," he whispered his ardent plea.

Her mind was still savoring the three words she had been so certain she would never hear. "Say it again," she begged.

He smiled. "I love you," he said again and pressed his lips to her forehead. "I will say it as often as you like, my star."

She closed her eyes and sighed with relief as his voice soothed her scoured soul. "Yes, Malik," she said, "I will marry you."

* * *

!TADAAAAA!

Oh, by the by, something I forgot to add. I looked up at least four different sources on the coffee and they all spelled it differently but according to the National Association of Coffee (yes, it is a thing, much to my delight) that was how it was spelled, so that's the one I picked because it sounded closest to 'coffee'


	30. Chapter 30

A/N: Hihi! So, finally got this one done. It took a while (obviously). I really had to work to get my flow back at a time of day other than 1am and other things kept diving in and everybody decided to talk A LOT aaannnd...I have summer homework :[ I'm also working on a publishable book :) wish me luck!

Not gonna talk a lot about this chapter because I can't without spoiling ;)

 **Shoutouts** to: **PianoGhost** , **Fluttershy 2059123** , **LadyRaider92** , **Moo123** , **Athenais Mona** and **i'm-an-elf99.** Loved your reviews!

Sorry it took so long, guys.

Enjoy!

A/N: It's a 1am re-upload. Had to fix a tiny thing (or two).

* * *

Ibrahim dropped through the lattice as the sun was setting, a bag of flour under his arm. He hesitated outside, mustering his courage.

 _I must speak my mind. Even if she will not accept my words, I must speak._

He strode inside and saw her sitting on a cushion with a book in her lap. Relief flooded him, as it did every time he saw that she was alive, and he paused to take in the sight.

"You look well," he commented.

She lifted her head suddenly, startled. "Oh! Ibrahim, it is good to see you. I fell asleep again," she said softly, almost to herself.

"I did not mean to wake you," he said apologetically as guilt prodded him. "I didn't realize you—"

"Ibrahim, the flour belongs in the kitchen," Malik called.

Ibrahim glanced toward the kitchen and nodded. "Yes, Dai," he replied and strode to the large closet where they kept the meal.

 _I must tell her. I must say it._

He steeled himself with a deep breath and went back into the other room. "May I join you?" he asked Aliyah, gesturing to the pillow beside her.

"Of course," she answered warmly, a happiness in her eyes that he had never seen before.

"Aliyah, there is something I must tell you," he began once he'd sat.

She smiled and ducked her head shyly. "There is something I must tell you, as well."

"Oh?" he said in pleasant surprise. "What?"

"You spoke first," she told, gesturing for him to continue.

"I insist you tell me," he said with a laugh. "You look as though you may burst."

She laughed breathlessly, a pink flush creeping into her cheeks. "Malik asked me to marry him."

Ibrahim went still beside her, his smile frozen on his face. "Oh," he remarked. "And…what did _you_ say?"

"I agreed," she replied. "Saying it…even now. I can scarce believe it happened. I have always loved him but I never dared to let myself believe that…that such a thing would be possible."

Ibrahim nodded quietly as she spoke. The news had stolen the air from his lungs and every word was like blade to his stomach. He suddenly remembered every day they had spent together in Jerusalem, the way her eyes would shine when she spoke or heard Malik's name, her careful attention to his every movement in the Bureau and the deference she showed him went far beyond the respect and even admiration normally given to a superior.

 _Of course, you've loved him from the beginning. How did I not see it before?_

Suddenly, Malik's protective tendencies made more sense.

 _He cares for you, as well, and long before I realized that I did, undoubtedly._

Then, anger sparked in his chest.

 _He cares for you and still sent you to your death?! I would have cut off my_ own _arm before I would have allowed that!_

He drew the breath to speak his mind.

 _If you were my wife, you would never face danger again. I may never be able to give you fine things, but I would keep you safe. You would be cared for. You would never have to wield a blade again—_

"You're to be congratulated," he told her warmly.

"Thank you," she said with the happiest smile he had ever seen and when Malik stepped into the doorway, she nearly became radiant with joy.

"Who is to be congratulated?" Khadim asked, striding into the room with a sack of vegetables. The others followed him inside, each looking just as curious. Farran and Altair entered last, carrying meat.

Aliyah looked at Malik questioningly and he shrugged.

"Go ahead," he told her with a grin. "You've already told Ibrahim."

"Told Ibrahim what?" Farran asked.

"Malik and I are to be married," she announced to the group and a stunned silence fell. "He has asked me to be his wife," she elaborated. "And I have agreed."

"This is wonderful news, Sister!" Khadim exclaimed.

"The two of you are indeed to be congratulated!" Yusuf added.

In the ensuing cacophony of cheers and congratulation, Altair watched Malik, attempting to gauge his temperament. His old friend seemed unable to take his eyes off of Aliyah and the look of tender protectiveness in his eyes brought bittersweet memories to his mind.

 _Ada, will I ever find you?_

Malik suddenly met his gaze and nodded. Altair made his way to him, encouraged by the lack of resentment that usually sparked in Malik's eyes when he was present.

"I am glad for you," Altair told him sincerely. "For both of you."

Malik grinned but a hint of regret settled in the corners of his mouth. "I should have married her long before now."

Altair looked at him in surprise. "Why didn't you?"

"I was afraid to ask," Malik answered quietly. "I was afraid of how she would perceive me…after she had suffered so much, and at the hands of someone who was meant to protect her above all else."

"What do you mean, Malik?" Altair asked.

"When we found her outside Damascus," Malik began, "as a Templar captive…she had suffered that life for years. Her husband—"

"Husband?" Altair hissed in shock.

Malik nodded. "He cast her out—threw her to his guards—when he found out that she cannot have children. Yet another thing he was responsible for," he almost snarled.

Altair stared at him. "She…cannot…have…children," he repeated.

"No," Malik replied, drinking in the sight of Aliyah's smile and the sound of her laughter. "She cannot."

"Malik," Altair began.

"A man never thinks he will be forced to choose between having children and the woman he loves," Malik interrupted. "Since I must choose, I choose her. I will always choose her."

Altair was silent for moment, considering Malik's words carefully. "You love her that much, then?"

Malik nodded. "I always have."

Aliyah suddenly looked up at them, a worried question in her eyes as though she knew what they were talking about. Malik smiled reassuringly at her and she glanced at Altair, bracing herself to see contempt or disgust. He held her gaze for a moment, then nodded once out of respect. She visibly relaxed as a sigh of relief escaped her, then, Farran came back into the room, scowling at the meat stains on his robes.

"Farran, did you lose another wager with Khadim?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered dismally.

"I wish we had known this day was going to be such a special occasion," Khadim said. "We might have brought back something finer for a meal for the two of you."

Malik cleared his throat noisily and they all turned to look at him. "I have the evening meal prepared already," he said, "and I am not about to throw it out."

"No, of course not, Dai," Khadim replied with a grin. "We would never expect you to."

"I'll have some of that now, actually," Dabir announced and sidestepped the group, heading for the kitchen.

"Have you decided when to have the ceremony?" Ibrahim asked Malik.

Aliyah looked at him curiously.

"No, we haven't yet," Malik said.

"I hope the year passes quickly for you," Farran said cheerfully.

Aliyah's face fell. "A year?" she looked at Malik pleadingly, as though he could somehow find a way to forgo the traditional waiting time.

"A year," he replied glumly. "But it will pass quickly."

She sighed and slumped disappointedly.

"A year," Altair scoffed. "The two of you have waited five years already, if not longer. Be done with this waiting. We can have arrangements made by tomorrow night at the latest."

Malik looked at him with excited interest. "How?"

"Khaliq is still in Jerusalem," Altair told him. "He can perform the ceremony."

"Of course," Malik shook his head at his forgetfulness, "I did not think of that."

"We can find a white gown tomorrow, perhaps," Sabir added.

Aliyah winced painfully. "I cannot wear white—"

"You _will_ wear white," Malik interjected firmly. "I will have no argument on that matter."

She looked at him, hurt and horrified. "You would have this be made a mockery?"

"Aliyah, what other color would you wear?" Ibrahim asked.

She looked at him cautiously, worried that he meant the question as a barb and stunned by the sincerity in his eyes.

"A woman of honor always wears white on her wedding day," Altair told her and the other echoed their agreement.

"Let me wear my robes, then," she directed her request to Malik.

"Your robes?" Khadim exclaimed.

"If you wish," Malik answered.

"I will go speak to Khaliq," Altair said, "so he will be able to prepare."

Malik nodded and Altair climbed to the roof. Evening was falling and he could see just the brightest stars. He started across the rooftops toward Khaliq's home in the Middle District, hoping he could reach the older man's house before nightfall.

 _He will not take kindly to being awakened._

When Khaliq's home came into view, he was relieved to see the lamp still lit in the window. He hurried to the door and rapped his knuckles sharply against the wood and took a step back. A brief moment later, the door opened and he saw the glint of a knife in the crack.

"Safety and peace, Khaliq," he said quietly.

The door opened wider and the old man scowled at him. "What do you want boy? No good business is done in the dark of night."

Altair grinned. "I suppose you would know."

Khaliq's lined face relaxed slightly as he grinned slightly in return. "True enough, true enough. But such dealings give the Brotherhood a bad name, you know."

"Yes, this is true," Altair agreed. "Although, from the stories I have heard, that was not a deep concern of yours years ago."

Khaliq nodded and opened the door enough to let Altair inside. "Many years ago, yes. What do you need?" he asked, and coughed hoarsely.

"Malik al-Sayf is to marry," Altair answered. "We would be honored if you would perform the ceremony."

"When?" Khaliq asked, sitting down by the dying fire.

"Tomorrow evening."

The old man straightened suspiciously. "Why so soon?"

"You will not find two people of greater integrity," Altair told him. "They have waited for years and would have married long before now, but circumstances kept them from it."

"Malik I know," Khaliq said, wrapping his robes around himself. "Who is the woman?"

"Her name is Aliyah."

Khaliq's aged eyes widened with interest. "I have heard that name often from the Assassins. I disapproved of the decision. A woman could bring nothing but shame. But she has served us well, thus far."

"She saved us here in Jerusalem," Altair told him. "It was she who assassinated Pierre Delacroix."

"Hmmm," Khaliq nodded. "I have heard. Tell me," he leaned forward, "my ears have heard whispers that I dare not believe. Insolent you may be, but never a liar. Tell me, was it truly she who rid us of the traitor Saamir Rahimi?"

"She was," Altair replied and felt a fierce pride fill him at the memory. "Her first assignment."

Khaliq laughed hoarsely. "I never believed it," he said. "I know Al-Mualim's thoughts, though. Better to lose her to his blade than you or Malik. Yet, she survived, eh?"

"She has survived much," Altair told him. "They both have. They deserve this small happiness."

 _Especially Malik._

Khaliq nodded. "Yes, I will perform the ceremony tomorrow evening. Where will it take place?"

"In the Bureau," Altair answered. "We cannot risk such a display outside."

"True," Khaliq agreed. "Wise, very wise. I will come."

"Thank you," Altair said with relief.

"Now, go so an old man can get his rest," Khaliq gestured to the door.

Altair left the house and breathed the cooling air in a sigh of relief.

 _At least, I will be able to bring them some good news._

"Altair," a low voice hissed.

He turned to search the shadows and could just see a man standing in the alley beckoning to him. With a wary look around, he walked toward the darkened street.

"Caleb?" he asked in surprise.

The man held a finger to his lips and led him around the next corner.

"I thought you were in Richard's camp," Altair hissed.

"I was," Caleb replied, halting and pressing against the side of a building as a guard walked by.

"What are you doing in Jerusalem?" Altair demanded.

"Altair, if we are caught, I won't be able to tell you anything," Caleb told him and hurried to an abandoned home, climbed through an open window and made their way to the second floor.

"Were we seen?" Altair asked, looking cautiously out the window. The light of a nearby lamp shone into the room and he was careful not stand in front of the glass.

"I don't know," Caleb answered, his brow furrowed with concern. He wore the robes of a commoner and his hidden blade was absent. "Altair, I don't have much time, so listen closely."

Altair met Caleb's odd green-brown eyes and saw the disquiet in his gaze.

"I am aware of your recent assignments," Caleb began. "In Richard's camp, I hear things. Conversations, names, places. But recently, there are things I expect to hear and I don't. You learn that certain names are paired together, or a name paired with a place, and when, suddenly they are not…that concerns me. Now, I stumble upon half secrets, vital military information that Robert deliberately keeps from Richard—"

"Are you actually _concerned_ for Richard, Caleb?" Altair asked dangerously. "Our _enemy_?"

"I am not so certain that Richard _is_ , in fact, our enemy," Caleb replied. "He is a good ruler, misguided, but he means well, I think. Robert…Robert concerns me greatly. He has too many secrets, too many things he keeps from the man he supposedly serves, and the men he keeps counsel with, the men who help him keep these secrets, are supposed to be loyal to Richard. When he returned from Solomon's Temple, Richard inquired after his health—"

"Why?" Altair asked, chilled by memories of that day.

"One side of his face looked as though someone had beaten him," Caleb said. "He told Richard that his mount had spooked and a strap on his saddle had broken. I checked his saddle while the physician tended him. It was in perfect condition. A loyal man will not lie to the one who holds his loyalty."

"How did you know he went to Solomon's Temple?" Altair asked.

"I overheard him talking to his physician," Caleb replied. "He mentioned a _Piece of Eden_ —"

Altair nodded knowingly.

"You're familiar with this, then?"

"I am," Altair replied. "We were sent to take the treasure from Robert de Sable—Malik, Kadar and I. Malik retrieved it."

Caleb looked at him for a moment. "At the cost of his brother. I had heard this, as well, but I didn't know it was this Piece of Eden Robert spoke of. He mentioned a Piece secured within a fortress…but hearing that Malik brought such a thing to Al-Mualim, it makes a little more sense now."

"You mentioned my assignments," Altair prodded.

"Robert knows about the men you have killed," Caleb told him. "Not only Richard's men, but Salah al-Din's, as well. One would think this was simply Richard's spies at work, but the men who bring the reports to Richard are not the same men who bring the reports to Robert. The reports that Richard receives provides him with names, ranks, military strengths, possible successors. Robert only receives names…as though, he already knew who the men were and everything else was trivial."

Caleb paused for a moment, a pained look on his face. "Altair, the more men you kill, the less I hear."

"You think the second is the result of the first?" Altair asked.

"I think so, yes," Caleb answered. "Though, why that would be, I do not know."

Altair sighed. "I think I may."

Caleb looked at him in surprise. "Explain it, then."

"Robert de Sable does not serve Richard," Altair told him. "He is a Templar—"

Caleb hissed in frustration. "I know this, Altair! He wears the emblem proudly."

"But it is not that simple," Altair said. "Their Order is not what it seems to be. The men I have killed, men on both sides of the war, they were all part of it. So, it seems that with each life I take, there is less to be said between them."

"Does Al-Mualim know any of this?" Caleb asked anxiously.

"He is the one who enlightened me on the matter," Altair replied. "Whether they were all willing and possessed full knowledge the tasks assigned to them, I am not sure. I prefer to believe that they were lured with false promises and used than that there is an influence so extensive."

"And what part does Robert play in all of this? What do they intend?"

"Robert de Sable is their Master," Altair answered. "The Templars' only purpose here, is to seize the Piece of Eden. Richard and Salah al-Din's war conceals their efforts and I worry that what little will be left after its conclusion will not survive long if the Templars gain power."

"What is this…Piece of Eden?" Caleb asked carefully.

Altair hesitated, recalling his own disbelief when Al-Mualim explained what the silver orb was capable of doing.

Caleb waited silently for an answer.

 _If I were to tell you about the things I've seen, the things I remember, you would have me executed for witchcraft._

"Al-Mualim called it the Apple," Altair said at last. "It has the power to control men's minds."

Caleb stared at him for a moment, speechless. "Well, that explains everything, doesn't it?" he remarked. "They've started a war that will never end."

A chill ran down Altair's spine. "I hope that isn't so."

Caleb shook his head dismally.

 _Oh, Altair, you will never know how true it is._

He sank into a chair and pushed his hood back, running his hands through his dark blonde hair. Altair watched him with some concern. He hadn't seen Caleb so distressed since the day they had first met nearly ten years before. He'd found Caleb wandering in an alley in Damascus, beaten and bloody, his robes so soiled that his hidden blade had been the only thing marking him as an Assassin.

 _'I think I died.'_

 _You kept saying that and to look at you that day, no one could argue that you had come close to death more than once._

"This—this changes everything," Caleb murmured. "Al-Mualim sent me into Richard's camp to learn his plans, his methods…and Robert was the true danger…"

"Perhaps, he trusted that your attention would be drawn to Robert instinctively," Altair replied. "It certainly seems to be what happened. If he had sent you there to focus only on Robert, the Brotherhood may never have benefited from the many other things you have learned for us."

"Majd Addin, Jubair al-Hakim, Abu'l Nuqoud…if they were knowledgeable, how could those men fall under the influence of an Order from such a far-removed place?" Caleb wondered aloud.

"Perhaps…" Altair began slowly, horrified by the thought he was about to voice. "Perhaps, this Order is far older than we originally thought. Perhaps, they knew the Piece was here all along."

"We have too many questions," Caleb muttered in frustration. "What do we know for certain?"

"Not enough," Altair replied. "And there is little more I can learn here."

Caleb looked up at him, his eyes dangerously calm. "What do you need from me?"

"I need you to concentrate on Robert," Altair told him. "I need you to learn everything you can about him and report it to me. There is a boy in Acre's Bureau, if you come across encrypted letters, send them to him. No detail is too insignificant."

"I communicate with you only, then?" Caleb asked.

"If you must speak with someone else, speak with Malik," Altair told him. "If you need shelter or protection, he can provide that, as well."

"But will he be willing to act if it is necessary?" Caleb insisted.

"He will act," Altair assured him. "He is cautious, so he will not act rashly, but he will act."

"I will start immediately," Caleb said, getting to his feet.

"Safety and peace, Caleb," Altair told him.

"There is one more thing you need to know," Caleb said quietly as he pulled his hood up. "That night, while the physician tended his injury, Robert talked about being betrayed in the Temple. He never spoke a name but I believe he knew who it was, he kept saying 'that old man'."

"What are you thinking?" Altair asked.

Caleb sighed. "I think that someone who betrayed Robert de Sable, might choose to seek solace with his enemies," he replied. "What I know, is that once a betrayal is committed, it only becomes easier. We would be wise to be _very_ careful."

* * *

Altair dropped through into the Bureau and sighed with relief when he heard the murmur of conversation in the main room. When he walked inside, all talk ceased and everyone looked at him expectantly.

"Khaliq agreed," he announced. "He will come here tomorrow evening."

Excited conversations erupted from the group. When Altair watched Malik release a deeply held breath, he felt both pleasure and guilt.

 _What was Kadar to you?_

As he made his way through the group to where Malik stood against the wall, Aliyah caught his eye.

"Thank you," she mouthed, knowing he would never hear her over the din.

He nodded, glad that he had been able to help secure their happiness even as his conscience knifed him viciously.

"Thank you, my friend," Malik said sincerely.

Altair paused, stunned. When he met Malik's gaze, he was surprised by the warmth in his eyes.

"I was concerned that Khaliq would refuse," he answered. "He was one of the many who disapproved of Aliyah's presence in the Brotherhood."

Malik scoffed a laugh. "One of the many," he repeated. "Yet, you never spoke against Al-Mualim's decision and you were the one I expected to protest the most. Why was that?"

"How could I?" Altair asked in surprise. "I had never heard such an earnest request before, nor had I ever seen such an honest desire. She did not want revenge or glory, she simply wanted to prevent her tragedy from being repeated."

"This is true," Malik said. "You seem anxious," he added after a moment.

Altair shook his head. "I did not wish to trouble you tonight."

"I am still Jerusalem's Dai, Altair," Malik told him, "regardless of the occasion. Tell me what has happened."

"I met Caleb outside of Khaliq's home," Altair said.

Malik grimaced at the name.

"I know you're not fond of him," Altair began.

"I have no issue with the man," Malik informed him. "I just find him…disconcerting. No matter how many times we meet, something about him always seems…unfamiliar to me. Of course, that may be the reason Al-Mualim places him among our _enemies_ as an informer. What ill tidings did he bring this time?"

"When Robert de Sable left Solomon's Temple," Altair began and Malik pursed his lips at the name, "he was certain he had been betrayed. Caleb urges us to be cautious."

"Such a traitor may very well seek shelter in our numbers," Malik remarked.

"Those were his concerns," Altair replied. "And a man who has betrayed once may betray again."

Malik nodded. "I will inform the others," he said, his attention falling on his bride once again. Warmth bloomed within him each time he looked at her

"Are you certain you will be able to complete your duties as Dai as well as a husband?" Altair asked cheekily.

Malik grinned. "I'm certain I shall find a way." Then, he sighed. "I am more concerned about what I am going to do when she is healed enough to continue her duties."

Altair looked at him in shock. "You don't intend to let her continue as an Assassin, surely?"

"Of course, I do," Malik replied. "She has worked far too hard to become what she is now. I will never take that away from her."

Altair considered that for a moment. "No, it would crush her if you did."

"I could best you, easily!" Farran exclaimed suddenly.

Malik and Altair turned their attention back to the group.

"Come try it, then," Dabir challenged.

"Wait, let me move away first," Aliyah laughed and started to get up. Ibrahim appeared beside her and pulled her gently to her feet and led her to a chair where she could watch safely.

The others cleared the floor and Farran and Dabir instantly began sparring. Both men were strong but Dabir was the quicker of the two and before long, Farran was on his face with both arms pinned painfully behind his back.

"Alright, who wishes to try me now?" Dabir demanded triumphantly as Farran retreated bashfully to the wall.

"I will," Yusuf said and a little while later, he had choked Dabir into submission. He fought with Sabir next and lost the bout when Sabir slammed his heel into his head, nearly knocking him unconscious.

"Well?" Sabir demanded.

"I'll take you," Ibrahim said quietly and strode forward.

"Don't be too hard on the boy, Sabir," Khadim said.

"I'll have you next, Khadim," Ibrahim promised and when Sabir lunged forward, driving a fist toward his face, he dropped to the floor and caught Sabir's legs between his own. With a quick twist, Sabir staggered and fell and Ibrahim was instantly on top of him. Sabir lashed out with an elbow, catching Ibrahim's jaw and the younger man tasted blood. Sabir managed to twist around and hooked his ankles around Ibrahim's throat, forcing his head backwards. Ibrahim gasped painfully and tried to pry himself free. When that failed, he rolled back, breaking Sabir's hold.

"Well done," Sabir remarked, getting to his feet. "Most don't think of that."

Ibrahim grinned, jumped and slammed both feet into Sabir's chest. Sabir landed hard, sprawled on the floor, gasping for breath even as he laughed.

"That…was…a good…fight," he said, struggling to his feet. "Well done."

Ibrahim nodded and turned his attention to Khadim. "Now you."

Khadim's grin faded. "Very well."

He walked forward with an air of confidence that was unsettling and Ibrahim was immediately wary. The entire room was silent, as though each person were holding their breath.

"The day of Majd Addin's death," Khadim began, "when you came for me that night, I had just finished dealing with twelve of his lieutenant's soldiers."

Ibrahim's eyes widened in surprise. Khadim had been exhausted and wounded when he found him, he had never considered what the reasons might have been.

Khadim suddenly drew a dagger and lunged forward. Ibrahim knocked the knife from his hand as Khadim drove his left fist toward his ribs. He blocked that strike, as well, but never saw Khadim's right hand until it slammed into his throat. His vision went black for a moment and he felt as though he was underwater as he fell to his knees, clutching his throat. After what seemed like an eternity, his eyes cleared and he managed to drag a tortured breath into his lungs and the first thing he saw was Khadim's dagger on the floor.

 _I didn't disarm him. He dropped the blade._

A strong hand gripped his shoulder and Khadim knelt in front of him with a cup of water.

"Sip it slowly," he instructed in a fatherly tone as he draped a cold cloth over the back Ibrahim's neck. "You will be fine."

He helped Ibrahim over to the wall and looked at Aliyah expectantly.

"I concede," she said with a smile and the room erupted with laughter. "But you have two more," she added, glancing at Malik and Altair.

Altair elbowed Malik sharply and jerked his head toward the floor and Malik shrugged and stepped forward.

"Is this wise, Dai?" Khadim asked worriedly.

Malik paused and slanted his eyes at Aliyah. "You see? I lose an arm and suddenly, I am fragile."

Altair scoffed. "Hardly."

"I mean no disrespect, Dai," Khadim said apologetically. "I only—"

"Worry that you will cause me harm?" Malik finished caustically.

Khadim said nothing.

"Well, I have no such reservations," Altair said, coming forward and shedding his outer robe and hood.

"Nor do I," Malik replied ominously.

"Let me have your robe," Aliyah told him.

He nodded and handed it to her and she folded it neatly on her lap.

"Listen," Farran remarked with a grin. "She already sounds like a wife."

"And no blades," she called to Malik as he walked back to Altair. "I want to there to be something left of you for me to marry tomorrow."

Malik nodded deeply so she would know he'd heard her and the men laughed.

"And he's already behaving like a husband," Sabir said.

Malik grinned and glanced back to see her smiling brightly, then turned his attention to Altair. The men circled each other slowly, each knowing better than to rush the other. Malik saw Altair studying him, judging his weaknesses.

"If you concede," he began darkly.

"When have I ever conceded?" Altair interrupted smugly.

Malik smirked. "I can think of a time or two."

Altair scowled and moved in to start the fight. Malik waited, then stepped forward, driving his heel toward the inside of Altair's foot. Altair dodged away and Malik pursued him, suddenly finding himself fighting down the dangerous anger that welled up within him.

 _This is why you insisted we not draw steel._

Altair grabbed him and landed two solid punches to his side. Malik wrenched free and slammed his elbow into Altair's back, driving the breath from him and sending him to his knees. Altair kicked out, connecting with Malik's knee and causing him to stagger. Altair got to his feet and rushed him and Malik stood up into the charge, ramming his shoulder into Altair's chest. The Assassin staggered back, gasping for air and Malik kicked him against the wall, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he pressed his advantage.

 _My brother…_

Altair grabbed his shirt and slammed his knee into Malik's stomach twice before the Dai drove his fist into Altair's side. Altair hissed a curse and shoved him away but Malik grabbed his arm and twisted, trying to pin him against the wall. Altair took two steps up the wall and flipped over Malik's head, catching him in a headlock and dragging him to the floor. Malik bucked and fought, nearly breaking Altair's grip, his mind flashing back to Solomon's Temple, to the sword in his arm that pinned him to the ground while his brother died.

 _Kadar…_

 _Forgive me, Brother, for not being able to save you…_

"Stay down, Malik!" Altair demanded.

"No!" Malik growled and managed to curl his legs up under his body and drag them both forward, nearly lifting Altair off the ground as he stood. He slammed his elbow into Altair's abdomen until the other man released him. He turned to face his opponent, then sank to one knee, breathing hard, his hand in a hard fist.

 _My brother is dead because you abandoned the Creed…you abandoned_ us _._

 _Aliyah is alive because you came back that day…_

 _If the three of us had fought together, Kadar would still be alive and I would still be whole…_

 _But you came back that day…_

 _You swore there was nothing you could have done, a pathetic excuse…_

 _But such a change cannot take place so quickly…did you not come back for us because you truly could not?_

 _If you_ had _been able to come back for us…would you have?_

He recalled the moment Aliyah had fallen through the lattice with painful clarity, the terror he'd felt, the helplessness, the relief when Altair returned…and stayed.

 _Yes, yes you would have._

The desire to continue the fight left him suddenly and in the second he should have regained his feet, he stayed where he was. He held his breath, expecting Altair to take advantage of the moment.

"Enough," Altair said hoarsely and Malik looked up to see him bent over, propping on his knees, catching his breath.

Malik nodded. "Enough," he agreed and Altair came and pulled him to his feet.

"Well fought!" Ibrahim exclaimed, then winced and touched his head gingerly.

"Well fought, indeed!" Khadim agreed. "Catch your breath, Dai. I believe I want to try you."

Malik laughed breathlessly. "Perhaps, another time, Khadim."

"Of course," Khadim said. "But I shan't forget it."

"I would expect not," Malik replied as he strode over to Aliyah to collect his robe.

Aliyah had watched the fight with some concern, remembering the day she had forced Malik to spar with her. He'd had that same sharpness in his eyes when the fight began, but underneath it had been a dangerous anger and that had only increased as the fight progressed.

 _That was why I insisted you not fight with steel, Malik. I wasn't sure if you could keep yourself from killing him._

He walked toward her with an ease that was surprised her and he when started to take his robe, she tightened her grip on it, her eyes full of questions.

 _Are you alright?_

He met her searching gaze and cupped her chin, giving her a soft smile.

 _I am fine, my star. Do not worry, everything is fine._

"Time enough for that tomorrow night," Altair told him.

Malik's smile broadened at the harassment, happy that he no longer had to conceal his affections. "There is time enough for it now," he replied.

Aliyah smiled, happy and relieved, and stood to help him don his robe again. He led her back to her cushion and sat next to her while they all finished their meal.

"I'll turn in for the night unless there is some duty I have forgotten," Ibrahim said with a yawn.

Malik shook his head and Ibrahim stood to leave.

"She has already turned in for the night, as well," Khadim remarked.

Malik looked at Aliyah beside and chuckled to see her slouched against the wall, her breathing slow and even, deeply asleep.

"I'll put her in the room," Altair said and carried her to Malik's room.

Ibrahim left and rolled himself into his blankets gratefully, then heaved a pained sigh.

 _I was too late, and now she belongs to another…_

Listening to the sounds of conversation in the other room, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

The other men turned in for the night shortly thereafter and only Altair remained in the room with Malik.

"Did she wake?" Malik asked.

Altair shook his head. "She did not so much as make a sound. You fought well," he added in an impressed tone. "I haven't sparred like that since…the last time you and I fought."

Malik sniffed derisively. "The last time you and I fought, it wasn't a spar."

Altair grinned ruefully, recalling the feel of Malik's blade against his throat. "That is true. I suppose that's why she insisted we not spar with weapons," he said. "Who could say if either of us would have walked away."

"Are you saying I would have bested you?" Malik asked with a snort of disbelief.

"You bested me more than once in that fight Malik," Altair told him seriously. "Had you been a true foe with blade…" he left rest unsaid and looked away. "I always derided your skill, for no other reason than my pride." His voice was heavy with shame.

"Al-Mualim named you Master Assassin," Malik said, moving from the cushion on the floor to a chair, "evidently, my skills were lacking in some way." He sighed. "There was not a man among us who did not envy you that day, including myself. But it was not the rank I envied…it was the honor. The honor of having such a rank bestowed upon you, the honor of being _worthy_ of such a position." He paused and sighed with the memory. "Al-Mualim passed me over and it was through no one's fault but my own."

"Instead he gave you the rank of Dai," Altair replied. "And not because—" he broke off suddenly, his eyes falling to Malik's empty sleeve.

"Because I am crippled?" Malik gave him a sardonic look. "Refusing to say it changes nothing."

Altair shook his head. "A crippled man could not fight the way you did this evening."

Malik shook his head, the only argument he could muster.

"You were marked for this position long before you received it, Malik," Altair told him. "With Khaliq as old as he is, I have no doubt that Al-Mualim planned to give his authority to you, regardless."

Malik said nothing for a moment, his expression a mixture of surprise and deep thought. "What makes you say that?"

 _I never thought my position was anything more than a decision of convenience, at the very least. Khaliq was far too old to continue this work and I no longer had another purpose._

"Because you are capable and you are careful," Altair answered firmly. "Even when you wielded the blade, you never focused only on your target. You saw what was around them, the potential threats that would replace them upon their death. I am grateful that it was you serving as Jerusalem's Dai when Pierre Delacroix lurked in Majd Addin's shadow instead of another man."

"Another man may have handled the situation better," Malik commented dimly.

"Another man may not have discovered him at all," Altair countered.

"A Brother _died_ that day," Malik said in a pained voice.

" _All_ of you would have died if Pierre had been left to his own devices," Altair told him. "You acted, even knowing what the price might be, because you knew what the price would be for doing nothing."

Malik looked at him in surprise, stunned by his conviction. "You have changed, Altair."

The Assassin pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I have learned things and remembered things I had forgotten, yet some things are still unclear to me."

"What things, Brother?" Malik asked.

"Things I have seen and heard during my missions," Altair said. "Some things Caleb told me today. Robert de Sable seems to be a far more powerful man than he first appears, but I cannot understand how or why that would be. Do your men know Caleb, Malik?" he asked suddenly.

"Khadim may," Malik said thoughtfully, "the others, I cannot say. Why do you ask?"

"I have him gathering information that places his life in even greater danger," Altair told him. "I told him to come here if he needed sheltering but it will be of no benefit if his own Brothers put a knife in his back."

"I will make sure that does not happen," Malik assured him. "Will this give you the answers you need?"

Altair nodded. "Yes, I believe so. I must return to Masyaf and give my report to Al-Mualim."

"Could I trouble you once more before you leave?" Malik asked.

"Of course," Altair replied.

"I would like for you to be my witness tomorrow evening," Malik told him. "It would require you to delay another day, and if you cannot, I understand."

Altair hesitated, trying to recall that last time Malik had requested anything of him for himself.

 _Years ago…no, not that long…_

"I would be honored, Malik," he answered warmly, then a chill settled in his core.

 _In Solomon's Temple, you begged me to see reason, not only out of concern for Kadar but for your sake…and my sake. That was the last thing you ever asked of me…_

"You spoke of your missions," Malik began, "certain things that perplexed you?"

"Greatly," Altair replied with heartfelt frustration.

"Tell me of those things, Brother. Perhaps, we can make more sense of them together."

Altair looked at him, surprised that he would offer his help so easily and greatly relieved, as well. "I hardly know where to begin," he said.

"Start at the beginning," Malik told him. "The very first thing."

Altair sighed thoughtfully. "The first thing…When I was in Masyaf, when Al-Mualim had made me a novice again, there was a man in the village that had opened the gate to Robert's army that I was tasked with finding. Though lives were lost on account of his actions, he believed he had acted rightly in betraying us…"

* * *

Aliyah opened her eyes to the faint morning light filtering in through the shuttered windows. She looked around, confused to find herself in Malik's bed.

 _I don't recall falling asleep…_

She rose carefully, and made her way to the window. The little opening did not allow a great deal of light into the room, but the cool air was refreshing. She straightened the blankets on the bed and stepped out of the room. The Bureau was quiet and dim, though the dawn's pink light was slowly spreading from outside. She spied Altair slumped in a corner, his chin on his chest. Once her eyes had adjusted further, she saw Malik seated in a chair, propped on the table, his chest rising and falling in the rhythm of sleep.

 _I don't recall this happening, either._

She stepped quietly into the kitchen and stoked the embers of the fire into a good blaze and began preparing breakfast. As she kneaded the dough for the loaves of bread, a feeling of perfect contentment spread through her and she started humming softly as she cooked. While the bread baked, she cooked eggs and meat and some green vegetables for good measure. When she went to gather plates, she found an unfamiliar jar and opened it. The smell of quaveh wafted up and a small mew of disappointment escaped her when she realized it was empty.

 _He would have liked a cup for breakfast. Of course, so would I. I didn't even know we had quaveh._

She smiled in amusement at the thought of Malik secreting the beans away like a forbidden treat.

She filled a plate with food and poured a cup of milk in the place of quaveh and took it to the table, then went back and filled the cauldron with water so she would have hot water to wash the dishes afterward and returned to the table with a basin of cold water.

"Malik," she whispered his name and shook him gently by the shoulder.

He came awake with a deep sigh and ran his hand over his face. "What is it?" he asked sleepily.

"It's morning," she told him.

"Already?" he groaned.

"Mm-hm," she murmured. "You slept here all night?"

"What was left of it, evidently," he answered.

"Why? I would have been perfectly fine in my bedroll," she said contritely.

"And have you toss and turn and rupture your scarring?" he asked. "I think not." He glanced at Altair's sleeping form. "We were discussing things."

"Oh?" she said, slightly worried. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything is fine," he assured her.

"You would tell me if it wasn't, wouldn't you?" she asked.

He smiled. "Yes, I would. Something smells absolutely incredible," he added, standing and looking around the room with great interest.

She smiled brightly. "Breakfast," she told him.

He finally saw the plate of food and realized it was his. "Thank you, my star," he said tenderly and kissed the top of her head.

"Time enough for that, later," Altair grumbled from the floor. He slowly stood and stretched his cramped muscles. "I only see one plate prepared," he commented.

She looked at him, amused. "How many would you say I should have prepared?"

"Mine, at least," he said.

"I'm not your wife," she pointed out, her tone lightly scolding and Malik bit back a laugh.

"You're not his wife either, yet," Altair informed her.

"I should think," Malik began with a grin, "that you are more than capable of preparing your own plate, Novice."

"Then why were you always preparing them for everyone else?" Altair asked pointedly as Malik splashed water over his face.

Malik paused and wiped his eyes. "Allow me to clarify my meaning," he said and Aliyah handed him a towel. "Oh, thank you. It would appear that _she_ believes you are capable of preparing your own plate," he amended, drying his face

Something about the meal, and the knowledge that Aliyah had prepared it, somehow put Altair in mind of Akilah.

"I hope I live up to your expectations," he said gravely and went to the kitchen.

Malik laughed and Aliyah turned her surprised expression on him.

"Hardly any of us remember a time when Akilah was not in charge of the kitchen in Masyaf," he told her. "She has struck fear into the heart of many a man."

"Perhaps, if we could force Robert de Sable to face her, he might return to wherever he came from," Aliyah suggested.

"That isn't a bad idea," he agreed.

"I'd rather deal with Robert myself," Altair said darkly.

Malik's look turned from cheerful to concerned. "Be careful, Brother," he said. "Remember the last time you spoke those words."

"I remember, Malik," Altair assured him. "That is precisely why I want to deal with Robert myself."

"Something smells delightful," Khadim remarked, coming into the room and stalling the conversation.

Ibrahim entered the room last. His sleep had been fitful, his body ached with tension and he had intended to leave immediately and find breakfast in the souk. However, when he heard that Aliyah had prepared the meal, he couldn't leave in such a manner. He wouldn't let her learn how much he was suffering.

 _If only I had spoken sooner…but would she have agreed? We trained as novices, I caused her harm—pain. Could such a thing have ever been possible between us? Could she ever have trusted me to such an extent?_

He would not mar her happiness with his misery.

"Perhaps, the city will be quiet today," Sabir said hopefully as they ate.

Ibrahim nodded with the others.

 _I hope the day passes quickly. Then, it will be done and she will be out of my reach._

Aliyah watched them leave with a slightly wistful expression.

Malik gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. "You will be able to join them soon," he promised.

She smiled up at him. "I know."

"Though, I must say, I will be…disappointed," he added. "I shall have to find some pretense to keep you here every so often."

"I will be your wife," she said. "What other pretense could you possibly need?"

"Wife," he repeated the word slowly, as though savoring a delicacy. "What other reason could I possible need?"

"I'll clean the dishes," she said and headed for the kitchen where the men had stacked their plates neatly.

Malik took the cauldron of hot water and she caught herself watching him lift it from its hook over the glowing coals and set it on the floor. The muscles in his arm flexed hard against the weight but he managed the task with hardly any difficulty and went about gathering towels and other necessary things so quickly, it almost seemed that having his arm would have only slowed him down.

 _He will never allow himself to believe that he is still so capable. I wish I could make him see it, the way he proved to me that I was still alive._

As she watched him move about the room, she felt a blush creeping up her neck as her attention was drawn to his broad shoulders, much like the day after they had met, and she looked away shyly.

 _He will be my husband soon. How can that be?_

The old shame returned to her suddenly and tears stung her eyes.

 _Such an impossibility…_

"Aliyah, what is wrong?"

She looked up to find him watching her with a concerned look, as though he knew her memories had returned to torment her.

"I wish it had been you at the very first," she said softly. "When I could have given you everything."

His expression turned pained and he strode to her, tipping her chin up and pressing a kiss on her forehead, then her cheeks as her tears spilled over.

"My star, I know the girl you were and I know the woman you are now," he told her. "And for me, there is no difference between the two. They are one and the same. You lack _nothing_."

"You know that isn't true, Malik," she said painfully.

He silenced her with a tender kiss. "You are the most precious thing in my life," he said. "Perhaps, after tonight, I will finally be able to prove that to you."

"You already have," she told him.

"Yet, you don't believe me," he said, pulling her close, his arm around her shoulders. "Apparently, I have done a poor job of it."

She pressed against him, accepting his embrace and laid her head against his chest.

"You are a woman of honor," he went on. "Think of the times you remained behind here. Do you think the others thought any less of you for it?"

That gave her pause. "No," she said at last, unable to recall even the slightest change in their demeanor after she would remain in the Bureau…alone with Malik. "No, they never did."

"The past would have you believe that you are some creature to be reviled," he said, "when nothing could be farther from the truth. Give ear to it no longer, my star." He propped his chin on her head, tightening his arm around her. "I could not protect you from that suffering, but I would give my life to ensure you never suffer so again."

She stood utterly relaxed, enveloped by his voice and his warmth, listening to the sound of his strong heartbeat. "I do not want you to give your life, Malik," she said. "I only want you to stay with me. That is all I want…all I need."

"Then that is what you shall have," he promised. "Though you deserve much, much more. Now," he added in the tone he adopted when instructing his Assassins and she glanced up at the change only to see him grinning, "let us finish these dishes before the water cools."

Once the kitchen was tidied, they spent the day working on Malik's map.

"Evening is coming," he said, looking out at the reddening light.

"I know," she replied, a tremor in her voice. "I can't remember the last time I was this excited. I don't believe I ever have been."

He smiled and took her hand. "Neither have I."

"I'll go and get ready," she said.

He nodded but held on to her hand until her fingers slipped from his grip. Alone in the room, he grimaced as a dull pain prodded him.

"Malik! Bring that ladder, boy!"

Malik looked up at the gruff voice and smiled. "Is it too far of a distance for you, then, Khaliq?" he called back as he retrieved the ladder from the far end of the room.

"Of course it is! Do you want to be married or not, boy?" Khaliq demanded. "Decide which you would prefer. A wife, or my old body dead on your floor?"

"I already decided," Malik said, grunting with the effort of maneuvering the ladder into position. "It is good to see you, Khaliq."

The old man harrumphed as he climbed down into the room. "I actually believe you mean that, Malik," he said. "The others, I nearly called them liars."

Malik's smile broadened at the acerbic tone he knew so well. No, the others could not have been completely honest if they had given him a similar greeting. Khaliq's aggressively abrupt manner wasn't endearing in the least but years before, he and Malik had developed a certain rapport. Shortly after his induction, Malik had been posted in Jerusalem for a time and like all the others, his first impression of Khaliq had been one of dislike. The older man's boorish manner chafed him. Soon, he grew weary of running pointless errands and began to view Khaliq's moods as a type of challenge, completing his tasks in the same manner that the old man assigned them. The last time, Khaliq had sent him to the souk before breakfast to find a book, claiming it was a most urgent task, yet neglecting to tell him which merchant would have it. By the time Malik had found the book and made it back to the Bureau, he had missed the morning and the noon meal, been kicked by a merchant's mule into a group of ruffians, and had run nearly to the Poor District to avoid the guards that had broken up the fight and arrested the group.

 _"Well, drop it there, boy, and be gone,"_ Khaliq had told him dismissively.

Malik had walked up to him, held the massive tome a good foot up from the table and dropped it. The resulting thunder echoed around the Bureau and Khaliq had jumped back, violently startled, and gaped at him in indignation. Malik then turned on his heel and walked away.

 _"What do you think you're doing?"_ Khaliq had demanded.

Malik had turned back, a look of cool disdain on his face. _"You said drop it and be gone. I dropped it. Now, I am leaving."_

 _"Come here, boy,"_ Khaliq had motioned him toward the kitchen and given him a plate of meat, bread and cold water. _"You're an insolent little urchin,"_ he'd said when Malik looked at him suspiciously. _"I can appreciate that."_

"So, you've finally decided to marry, eh?" Khaliq said, sitting down in a chair near Malik's table. "I am almost surprised that it looks the same as when I left," he added to himself.

"Yes, finally," Malik agreed with a smile.

"So, tell me," Khaliq began, his voice serious, "is everything I've heard about this woman true?"

Malik looked at him, then looked in the direction Aliyah had gone, imagining everything Khaliq may have heard, and was forced to acknowledge Aliyah's point. Nothing that had ever been said about her had been untrue.

"Yes, Khaliq," he answered. "Everything is true."

"This woman is responsible for killing Saamir Rahimi, hunting down his spies, and ridding Jerusalem of Pierre Delacroix," Khaliq said in a slightly incredulous tone.

"Yes," Malik replied, pride warming his voice.

"This woman, who was a Templar whore until you found her outside Damascus," Khaliq continued.

Malik winced at the word and bit back an angry retort. "Yes."

"Tell me how that came to be," Khaliq said.

Malik sighed. "Her husband cast her out when he learned when she could not have children," he answered.

"Her husband?" Khaliq looked at him in alarm.

"He is dead, Khaliq," Malik assured him.

"You are certain of this?"

A cold anger spread through Malik at the thought of Ra'id ibn Sabir. "I am certain."

Khaliq nodded approvingly. "And knowing all of this, you are certain this is the woman you want to take as a wife?"

"I am certain," Malik told him.

"Good," Khaliq said. "A man should never marry unless he has that certainty. So, where is she?"

"She is—" Malik turned at the sound of a soft step and smiled, "—right here."

Aliyah came into the room and paused under Khaliq's scrutinizing gaze. Her robes felt odd after so many days but the weight of them was familiar and comforting.

"Surely, you don't intend to get married in that?" Khaliq remarked critically.

"I do," she answered without hesitation. "I insisted that we not spend our meager amount of coin on something as frivolous as a gown when I have something that suits perfectly."

Khaliq cocked an eyebrow. "That quick tongue reminds me a bit of you, Malik."

"I will take that as a compliment," she said, smiling at Malik.

"You shouldn't," Khaliq told her gruffly.

Malik snorted a laugh. "I'm sure I can find that book around here someplace, old man," he said.

Khaliq rose from his chair. "No, you won't. I took that book with me when I left," he informed Malik. "The way I saw it, since you tried to kill me with it, I would stay in better health if it was in _my_ possession."

"Malik?" Aliyah looked at him with a startled expression.

He grinned at her. "I'll tell you about it later," he promised as the others dropped through the lattice.

She and Malik stood before Khaliq, each trembling with excitement.

"Who is here to bear witness for the man?" Khaliq asked.

"I am," Altair stepped forward.

"And who is here to bear witness for the woman?"

Aliyah was seized with panic. She hadn't had the chance to ask any of them to be a witness for her.

"I am," Ibrahim stepped forward without hesitation, as though they had settled the matter long before.

Khaliq nodded and led them through their vows as the moon rose and filled the Bureau with its soft light, his deep voice lending a certain gravity to the proceedings. Throughout it all, neither could look away from the other, and their Brothers stood in a half circle around them as witnesses, glad that the two had found such obvious happiness with each other.

Throughout it all, Ibrahim held his tongue and kept still, wishing that he had only spoken sooner and that it was he sharing the vows with her.

* * *

The morning dawned clear and cool and the golden light peeked through the shuttered window, barely illuminating the small room as though trying not to wake the inhabitants.

Aliyah awakened slowly, fighting to stay in the dream that portrayed her as Malik's wife. However, the more awake she became, the more she became aware of things that were real and not a dream at all. Malik lay with his arm around her, his fingers laced through hers, holding her tightly against his chest as though trying to shield her from danger even in his sleep. The sweetness of the night came back to her and she sighed happily.

"Good morning, my love," Malik's deep voice was husky with sleep and warm with content.

"It is, indeed," she murmured, kissing his hand and pulling his arm and the blanket tighter around her. "I was afraid to wake up," she confessed softly. "Afraid that none of it was real."

"It was real," he promised, placing a kiss behind her ear, then on the back of her neck. "It is all real, my star. I want to wake up every morning like this, for the rest of my life."

"So do I," she said. As she turned to face him, he rolled onto his back and she laid her head on his chest. "This is my place," she whispered. "No matter what else happens, I have found my place."

"And no else shall ever have it," he vowed, running his fingers through her long, black hair. He breathed in her sweet fragrance in a deep sigh. "This is my place, as well."

"Can we stay?" she asked him. "Just like this? Can we stay here forever?"

He stroked her cheek, raising her head. "I wish we could," he said ruefully. "But, we shall have to content ourselves with having this place to return to."

She smiled and kissed him tenderly, cupping his face with her hands and stealing his breath away much as she had done the first time and every time after. A deep ache settled in his stomach and he held her tightly, savoring every second.

"We have to get up," he said, laughing softly as she laid her head just beneath his chin. "If we stay any longer, we never will again."

She raised up on one elbow. "I hope you didn't intend that to be an incentive," she said, amused.

"Sadly…yes," he replied. He caressed her cheek with his thumb, looking at her with something akin to awe. "You are the other half of my soul," he whispered, his eyes glistening. "I never knew how lacking I was…until I found you. And then…after everything…I hardly considered myself a man."

She relaxed into his rough palm, cherishing his tenderness. "That wasn't the impression you left me with," she told him.

His eyes widened with shock and amusement and he flushed. "That…is quite the saucy statement, my love," he sputtered with a nervous laugh. "Is this the sort of behavior I can expect from you in the future?"

She smiled and stroked his reddened cheeks. "Possibly."

"I look forward to it, then," he said with a nod. He took one more kiss and left the bed, throwing on his robes. "I have to see Altair off. If he hasn't left already."

She started to get up, as well. "I'll draw you a bath."

"You will do no such thing," he answered sternly.

She froze, her mouth open in confused surprise.

He took her hand. "You are capable, my love, I will never deny this," he kissed the dark red scar on her arm. "But this skin is still too freshly healed and it would only be too easy to reopen your wounds. I will not let that happen."

"But—"

He silenced her with a kiss. "Let me take care of you, my star. Soon, you will be out in the streets again and there will be little I can do. For now, let me do what I can. Yes?"

She smiled softly. "Yes."

He cupped her chin and ran his thumb over her lips. "I will be back in a moment," he promised. "Stay right here."

She snuggled down under the blanket again and watched him leave the room.

He shook his head outside the door, happy and exasperated.

 _You always were a headstrong woman._

The Bureau was quiet and dim and he strode through silently, finding Altair outside checking his gear and preparing to leave.

"You have never been one to slink away, Brother," Malik said, amused.

Altair looked back in surprise. "I thought you valued subtlety," he replied with a grin. "I did not wish to disturb you."

Malik shook his, dismissing the notion. "Do you have everything you need?"

"Yes, I believe so," Altair answered.

"My door is always open to you, my friend" Malik told him. "If ever you need anything, do not hesitate to ask."

Altair finally turned around, genuinely stunned by the gesture. When Malik held out his hand, he grasped it firmly, relieved beyond words that he had Malik watching his back, once more.

"I hope you find the answers you need," Malik said.

Altair nodded. "Take care of yourself, Malik."

He climbed out of the Bureau and Malik waited, listening until his footsteps faded away into silence. Then, he went back inside before Aliyah could get into mischief.


	31. Chapter 31

A/N: Hiya! I am here! I promise, I am still here! I did not abandon you, I swear. Three things: 1) I am neck deep in school projects, and I mean neck deep because I'm desperately treading water, 2) I misplaced my jump drive that has ALL of my stories on it and oh, you should have seen me panic, 3) I have a writer's block of BEASTLY proportions! Didn't think that would happen with this fic, but surprise surprise. It did. Just know this, I will never leave an unfinished fic unfinished. I do complete what I start. I know my uploads are sporadic at best and this last time probably (most likely) tried everybody's patience, ( I am so sorry) but never doubt that I am working on it, even if it's only a paragraph a day, which is what this one felt like.

Thank you for following and faving! Love you guys! I really do!

 **Shoutouts to** : **Messy Ink** , **Wolftear1** and **Moo123**! Thank you for the reviews! Muah! :*

Enjoy!

Oh, btw, if anybody finds mistakes, please please please let me know. A lot of this was written in the wee hours of the morning and by 'a lot' I mean nearly all of it. If some parts seem a little flat, that's a result of the crippling WB I've suffered for weeks. But, rest assured, I will be doing rereads and will fix and re-upload as needed. Don't be afraid to add your input.

* * *

Altair slid his stallion to a halt behind a wagon. The horse's white coat shone with sweat and the foam on its muscled body told of its hard run. He ducked behind wagons and carts, making his way to the gate. He scaled the wall and passed over the guard's heads, dropping to the stone street and startling several people. He dodged into an alley, ignoring the cries of indignation, climbed to the roof and sprinted for the Bureau.

* * *

Malik leaned over his table, making measurements on a map. He stopped with a frustrated sigh when he realized he had measured the same place five times and failed each time to write it down. After an entire day of begging, he had finally consented to Aliyah's request to leave the Bureau but only after securing the most solemn of promises that she would only observe the city.

Suddenly, boots landed outside, startling him violently. He knew the sound of each of his informants and the last time he'd heard that—

Aliyah walked inside, her steps firm and precise but lacking their usually infectious energy. She paused when she saw his alarmed expression. "Is everything alright?"

Malik sighed softly with relief, and realized he'd come around the end of the table, heading for the doorway. "The last time you dropped through the lattice, you were nearly dead," he told her and moved back to his map. "I thought…Never mind. Has anything changed?"

"More knights have arrived," she replied walking behind the table, her hand resting on the satchel she carried. "Even so, the city is quiet. Will Altair arrive in time?"

"I do not know," he replied, shaking his head doubtfully.

"If he does not?"

"I have the others watching Robert de Sable," he answered.

"Do they have instructions to kill him?" she asked in surprise.

"No," he told her, glancing up with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "But neither do they have instructions to spare him." He scoffed, dipping his pen. "He chooses to come to the funeral of a monster. Does he truly think that this display will inspire the belief of peaceful intentions?"

"The people want peace," Aliyah told him, reaching into her bag. "I think it is very likely they will believe it."

"Hmph," Malik grunted in disdain, then Aliyah passed her hand under his nose and the smell of quaveh wafted up. He straightened in surprise and looked down to see her holding a handful of the dark beans. "How? There was none to be found!"

"I suppose you didn't ask the right merchant," she said with a laugh and handed him the small pouch that held the beans. "I found your empty jar," she went on and he glanced up a little guiltily, "I thought it was time to refill it." She placed a light kiss on his cheek. "And tonight, as a gesture of gratitude, you can brew us a cup."

"I will certainly do that," he promised and kissed her tenderly. "Go," he said, still holding her. "Go, before I keep you."

She kissed him once more but hesitated to leave.

"Malik," Aliyah began slowly, worriedly.

"Yes?" he prompted when she hesitated.

"Robert has brought so many men into the city, how do we know that they do not have orders to take the city should harm befall him?" she asked. "

"I had considered that," he assured her. "Find the others," he instructed, his voice calm and cold. "I want the Templars' numbers thinned… _discreetly_ —"

One of the men dropped through the lattice, wounded by the sound of the heavy landing and Malik rushed to investigate.

"Yusuf, what has happened?" he asked in alarm when he saw the man on his knees, clutching his bloody side.

"Archers," he bit out through clenched teeth. "I think they are looking for us. I managed to draw them away from Farran, but…" he sagged against the wall, breathing hard.

Malik hurried to check his injury. "And the archers, as well," he told Aliyah. "We can't work if we can't move about the city."

She nodded and left, climbing to the roof, wincing and biting back a groan as her healing muscles protested the rapid movement. She found Askari first, in the souk.

"Safety and peace," she said as she came up behind him.

He relaxed and dropped his hand from his knife hilt. "What news, Sister?"

"Malik wants Robert's force thinned," she said. "As many as can be removed discreetly."

"Ah, so he does not believe that the Crusaders come in peace," Askari remarked in mock surprise. "I will do what I can."

"Where is Ibrahim?" she asked.

"He and Khadim headed southwest," he replied. "Where exactly, I do not know."

"Thank you," she said and left, hurrying as quickly as she could without attracting attention. Suddenly, Ibrahim's familiar figure passed in front of her and strode down a side street. She followed and found him and Khadim in the shadow of a collapsed house.

"What brings you out, Aliyah?" Khadim asked.

"I have instructions," she said. "Malik wants Robert's knights removed, as many as possible, and the archers, as well."

"What of Robert?" Ibrahim asked. "He and his men are camped near David's Citadel."

"Altair has come to take his life," she replied.

They nodded somewhat ruefully. "I will pass these orders to Sabir and meet you at David's Citadel," Khadim told Ibrahim. "Even if Robert manages to escape Altair's blade, he will not leave alive."

"No, he will not," Ibrahim agreed with grim satisfaction. "You should return to the Bureau," he told Aliyah as Khadim hurried away.

"I think not," she replied coolly.

He smiled, pleased to hear the determination in her voice. "Very well, and you can report to Malik for us when we have finished."

She smiled. "My thoughts exactly," she said and followed him to the rooftops.

* * *

Altair dropped through the lattice more quickly than he had intended and the bones in his legs jarred painfully upon landing on the stone. He clenched his teeth and strode inside, undeterred.

Malik looked up. "Safety and peace, Altair," he said, his tone a mixture of surprise and relief.

"And upon you, as well, Brother," Altair replied, his voice both warm and grave.

 _The last time Robert was in Jerusalem, I lost two brothers…_

Malik could almost see the thought racing through the Assassin's mind and he gave a small shrug. "It seems fate has a funny way of things," he remarked in a tone that made it clear he found nothing about the situation amusing.

"So, it _is_ true, then. Robert de Sable is in Jerusalem," Altair said, both eagerly anticipating his assignment and grieving the memories that came with that name.

Malik nodded, his lips pursed into a line. "I have seen the knights myself," he said grimly, his left shoulder aching with phantom pain. "Still, the city is quiet and for that, I am grateful."

"It may not be quiet for long. Only misfortune follows that man," Altair stated flatly. "If he is here, he has only ill intentions and I will _not_ give him the chance to act," he vowed grimly.

 _Robert will cause no more harm to us. I will not let another Brother die on that man's blade! But there are still things I must know. Before he dies, he_ will _answer my questions._

Malik looked at him with concern. "Altair, we both want this to be the last day Robert draws breath in this world but do not let vengeance cloud your thoughts, Brother," he urged softly. "We both know that no good will come of that."

 _You have changed. If Al-Mualim had granted my request that day, you would not have had the chance…and Aliyah would have died in my arms._

"I haven't forgotten, Malik," Altair assured him solemnly. "You have nothing to fear. I do not seek vengeance, but knowledge."

Malik straightened. "Truly, you are not the man I once knew," he said, his voice held a mixture of surprise, relief and respect.

"My work has taught me many things," Altair told him, "revealed secrets…but there are still pieces of this puzzle I do not possess."

"What do you mean?" Malik asked, curious and thoughtful, a tone he only adopted when he was tracking a target.

"All the men I have laid to rest worked together," Altair replied. "They were united by this man. Robert has designs upon the land, of this I am certain but how, why, when, where? These things remain a mystery to me."

Malik paced for a moment in deep thought, counting each of Altair's targets by name. "Crusaders and Saracens working together?" he asked, cautiously incredulous, certain there was something he had misunderstood.

"They are neither of those things," Altair said gravely. "They are Templars."

Malik looked at him in confusion. "The Templars are a part of the Crusader army."

Altair shook his head. "So, they would like King Richard to believe," he answered. "But, their only allegiance is to Robert de Sable and some mad idea that they will stop the war."

"You spin a strange tale," Malik remarked, wishing he could dismiss the idea as madness but finding it impossible to do so.

 _I had thought that Majd Addin had simply betrayed Salah al-Din. That explained Pierre's presence in the city perfectly. Now, he says that his every target, Saracen and Crusader, serve under Robert's_ _banner. I could easily believe that of the Crusader leaders…but,_ our _leaders? How could that be?_

"You have no idea, Malik," Altair's voice suddenly became urgent, determined. "Tell me where they have been seen so I can be after him before he slips away."

Malik nodded. "Three places I know for certain," he said. "West of here, near the tower and the hospital and to the southwest near the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. See what you can learn and I will do the same."

"I will be as quick as I can," Altair assured him.

"Stay safe, my friend," Malik urged and Altair rushed back outside. He climbed to the roof and ran west toward the hospital, determined to find what he needed to end Robert's life before the sun set. He mistimed a jump across an alley and his stomach rose into his chest as he desperately grabbed onto a window to stop his fall.

"You die today, Assassin!"

He looked down to see a Templar knight striding toward him, his gauntleted hand curled around a rock. Dust fell down in front of his face and he looked up to see an archer aiming down at him. He kicked out from the wall desperately as the bow twanged and the arrow splintered the window sill. As he climbed back to the roof, the Templar hurled his rock and Altair's vision flashed white. For a moment, he thought he heard a sharp cry of pain behind him. Suddenly, strong hands gripped his arm and hauled him over the edge.

"Are you alright?"

Altair looked up into Sabir's concerned eyes and nodded, wincing and touching the back of his head, testing for blood. He glanced toward the other roof and saw the archer lying dead, the sun glinting off of Sabir's dagger in the man's throat.

"Have a care, Brother," the other Assassin chided him. "Speed will be of no benefit to you if they kill you on the run."

Sabir's words reminded him painfully of Malik and he felt as though he was back in Solomon's Temple, so eager to kill Robert and giving no thought to what occurred around him. He closed his eyes, suddenly heartsick.

 _Malik, you were right to demand my death. I killed Kadar. Though the blade was not mine, I am no less responsible._

"Help us clear the archers," Sabir said. "That will make all of our work easier."

Altair nodded and accepted Sabir's hand, letting the other man help him to his feet.

 _Yes, this time, I shall go about this task the correct way._

* * *

The Templar stood his post, watching the crowds for any sign of developing conflict. The city was nearly drowning in the combination of caution and aggression rolling off the people. He was grateful his post was in the shade of a tree, shielded from the scorching sun. Suddenly, an arm came around him, a hand gripped his throat, cutting off his air even through his chainmail, and a white hot pain burned through his chest as a blade pierced his heart.

Ibrahim held him there for just a moment before slipping back behind the tree and climbing back to the roof as the Templar collapsed to the ground, dead, eliciting cries of panic from the crowd.

"That was the last one," he said to Aliyah. He had never before felt so chafed by Malik's orders.

 _I could kill them all, but it would be far from discreet._

Aliyah nodded and smiled at his frustrated expression. "I gave him my word that I would not enter combat," she said. "If I could, we could kill them all discreetly."

He grinned, his pleasure at her words temporarily masking the throbbing ache he felt whenever he was in her presence. "We certainly could," he agreed. "What is it?" he asked when she looked past him, her eyes narrowed in scrutiny.

"There are far more archers on that roof than is necessary," she said. "There is nothing there of importance."

Ibrahim turned to look and counted at least six men. "Unless, that has changed," he suggested.

She glanced up at him, her eyes alight with an eagerness he hadn't seen since her encounter with Ra'id. "Shall we see?"

He nodded and they made their way to the building the archers were guarding. They ducked into a rooftop garden to observe their movements.

"Think he's said anything, yet?" one of them asked.

Aliyah and Ibrahim traded startled looks at the voice. "They aren't Saracens," she said in the lightest whisper.

He shook his head, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Why wear the armor?" he wondered aloud in the same manner as another man replied.

"Who knows? Personally, I think Gerard is playing with him. If he wanted to break the man, he could have done that days ago."

"I'm not sure—"

"Well, does he still have all of his fingers?"

"Last I saw, he did. Well, except for the one on the left hand they cut off themselves."

Aliyah's eyes went wide and she saw her horror reflected in Ibrahim's expression. "They have one of us!" her alarm tightened her throat, making her whisper even fainter. Her hand fell to her dagger, her vow to Malik forgotten.

Ibrahim grabbed her wrist and shook his head in a firm 'No'. "You gave your word," he reminded her, his deep voice low in her ear. When he leaned back, his eyes were fierce and dark with wrath.

 _I will not lose another Brother to these animals. I will not lose_ you _._

He slipped from the rooftop garden and Aliyah watched him hurl two knives into the back of the men's necks, retrieve them and ghost away. She heard one brief cry, saw another fall with a dagger in his throat, then there was nothing. Suddenly, the curtain moved and Ibrahim motioned for her come outside.

"We have to hurry," he said. "The moment they realize we are here, they will kill him."

She nodded. "How should we go in?"

"I can go through that window," he said, nodding toward one that was in the shade of the building.

"I'll go down and see how many are inside," she said and headed down a ladder before he could protest. He waited until he saw her reach the ground safely, cover her clothing with a brown robe, then went to the window. Every muscle was taut, and his mouth was an anxious line as he opened it slowly to avoid making any sound. He climbed through and closed it, finding himself in a bedroom, food and drink spread about.

 _The archer's quarters, perhaps?_

He checked the next room and found it empty as well. Then, he heard a sharp knock on the window and opened it in time for Aliyah's next rock to sail up and hit him in the chest. He frowned down at her but doubted she would see it from the ground. She motioned toward the front of the building, telling him to move forward and he did so gladly. He paused at the top of the stairs as a voice floated up to him.

"Normally, I would just start cutting off fingers," the voice was soft, yet somehow, that only made it sound even crueler. "But, I don't believe that would bother you. After all, you've already done one yourself." He heard the sharp sound of a blow. "Wake up, boy! You still haven't answered my question. I dislike a one-sided conversation."

Ibrahim descended the darkened stairway as quickly as he dared. Stopping just outside the reach of the lamp's glow, he saw a man bound to a chair, stripped to the waist, bloody and unconscious. Areas of his torso were partially flayed, some pieces of flesh hung loosely while others were completely removed, revealing the meat beneath. Another man appeared and flung a basin of water in the captive's face and he came to, gasping and choking through the filthy gag in his mouth. His lips were split, both from beatings and lack of water, his right shoulder was obviously dislocated and there was a dark bruise around his neck.

 _Did they start to hang him and change their minds?_

"Where are the rest of the filthy rats, hm?" the man asked, leaning down into the captive's face.

Ibrahim started to move, but the torturer moved to stand at the Assassin's back and he froze, seeing the wickedly curved knife in his hand.

 _If he sees me, he may decide to slit his throat and be done._

"I must say, you don't look like the rest of them," he said silkily. He grabbed a handful of the man's dark blonde hair. "Tell me, is this your mother's or your father's? Which one was the defiler, eh?" He gripped his face and bent to look into his eyes. "How about these, hm? Very unusual. Perhaps, I'll keep one as a token of remembrance."

The Assassin glared at him, glared at the edge of the knife that hovered so close to his face. The torturer smiled and patted his face and as he stepped around, he jostled the chair and the Assassin groaned in agony. Ibrahim's eyes immediately fell to the daggers sunk deep in the man's calves, pinning him to the chair.

"We know they are in the cities," he continued in a reasonable tone. "I only want to know where they reside in Jerusalem. One simple question. One simple answer. Then, the pain will stop. You have my word."

The utter exhaustion the Assassin's eyes made Ibrahim's heart pound in alarm.

 _No, surely not…_

He couldn't move, not yet. The torturer would kill him before he reached the last step.

"There is no rescue coming for you, if that's what keeps you silent," he went on. "But I have no interest in taking your life. There is no reason for you to suffer any longer." He moved to the Assassin's side, fingering the tip of the blade, examining him like a surgeon. "Still silent? Very well, I will carry the conversation, if I must."

He pressed the blade against the Assassin's ribs and dragged it slowly through his flesh, blood pouring over the steel edge. The Assassin's head went back as a scream of agony was torn from him, the gag forcing it to come out as something between a groan and a sob.

"Oh, now you break your silence," the torturer said in mock surprise as he finished, flicking the knife away like a painter finishing a brushstroke.

Ibrahim rushed forward and ran the torturer through with his short blade, then shoved him off in disgust so that he landed in a heap against the wall.

"Aliyah!" he barked.

She barged through the door instantly and rushed to their injured Brother. Her hand went to his gag but Ibrahim stopped her.

"Wait," he said, drawing her gaze down to the knives in his legs.

She nodded and met the man's despairing gaze. "Caleb?"

He nodded weakly and another groaning scream was ripped from him as Ibrahim pulled one knife free. Aliyah gripped his uninjured shoulder, hoping to provide some small kind of reassurance as Ibrahim pulled the other knife out. His groan was more of a sob than a scream this time and his chest was heaving as he tried to breathe through the gag. Aliyah quickly untied it and removed the bloody, spittle soaked rag. He desperately sucked in a breath as tears pooled in his eyes.

"Caleb?" Ibrahim asked as he moved to untie his hands. "The spy in Richard's camp?"

Caleb nodded, almost unable to lift his head.

Aliyah cupped his chin and the pleading look in his oddly colored eyes broke her heart. She held her flask to his bloody lips. "Here, drink," she urged gently and trickled some water into his mouth, hoping he would understand in his weakened state that she wasn't teasing him.

Relief flooded his features the moment the water touched his tongue and he eagerly swallowed the meager amount, wincing from the pain in his throat. She gave him a few more drinks and studied his injuries. Aside from his bloody mouth, which looked like a recent happening, his face was largely undamaged. What she had thought were bruises around his eyes were, in fact, the dark shadows of sleepless nights. As she held his head up so he could drink, she felt the feverish heat in his skin.

 _Of course, Robert could hardly maintain his appearance of peaceful intent if he arrived with an obviously abused prisoner._

She corked her flask and Caleb struggled to catch his breath.

"Thank you, Sister," he rasped as Ibrahim tied a makeshift sling and tucked his arm into it. Aliyah cut strips off her robe and bound Caleb's legs while he ground his teeth.

"Can you stand?" Ibrahim asked doubtfully, watching the blood darken the bandages on his legs.

"I'll try," Caleb said through clenched teeth.

Ibrahim wrapped him in a robe and took hold of his left arm, helping him to his feet.

"…weapons…" Caleb bit out the word.

"Where are they?" Aliyah asked.

He nodded toward a bloodstained burlap sack in the corner and she hurried to grab it. Caleb tried to take a step and his legs collapsed beneath him. Unable to find a way to grip the wounded man, Ibrahim managed to control his fall and lowered him to the floor.

"…Altair…" Caleb murmured, semi-conscious. "Where…?"

"He is here in Jerusalem," Ibrahim told him. "He has come to kill Robert de Sable."

Caleb shook his head slowly, losing his battle to stay awake. "Robert…is…not…" he trailed off, his chin falling to his chest.

"We have to get him back to the Bureau," Ibrahim said, hefting Caleb's dead weight onto his shoulder. They walked back upstairs and left through the window.

* * *

"Malik!"

He started violently at the sound of Aliyah calling his name in such a panicked tone.

"Bring the ladder! Quickly!"

He did as she asked without question. "What has happened?" he demanded as he placed the ladder against the lattice opening, fear making his voice sharper than he had intended. Ibrahim appeared at the edge with a body slung over his shoulder and cautiously climbed down while Aliyah dropped down beside Malik, wincing at the pain that shot up her legs.

"We have Caleb," she told him hurriedly, trying to speak calmly. "The Crusaders were torturing him, Malik. They…they were dressed in Saracen armor."

Malik gave her a look that was both confused and alarmed. "That makes no sense," he muttered as Ibrahim stepped off the ladder. "Fetch my things," he told Aliyah and she hurried to gather what he would need.

"Did he say anything?" Malik asked as he took hold of Caleb's other side and helped Ibrahim take him inside.

Ibrahim shook his head. "No. He tried, but…"

Malik nodded. "That was not quite what I meant," he said.

Ibrahim looked at him in surprise, then he understood. "No, he did not betray us," he said. "The man kept asking him the same question over and over again. He wanted to know where we were in the city. I don't know how he kept his silence."

Malik shook his head as though to say it was beyond his comprehension, as well.

 _How did they catch you, Caleb? What happened?_

Aliyah had prepared a bed and they laid Caleb down. He never made a sound, even when Malik peeled the robe away from his raw, bleeding torso.

"These are infected," he muttered to himself, checking some the older wounds. "Hm, broken here…and here…" he gently tested Caleb's ribs, then turned his attention to the heavy bruising on his shoulder. "Ibrahim, I'll need you to help me with this."

Ibrahim nodded and took hold of Caleb's wrist and elbow while Malik put his hand on his shoulder.

"Malik…?"

He looked down into Caleb's exhausted, questioning gaze. "You _would_ wake up for this part," he groused.

"What?" Caleb asked in confusion.

Malik looked at Ibrahim and nodded. Both men exerted their full strength, Ibrahim pulling on his arm while Malik pressed down onto his shoulder. Caleb screamed hoarsely as his shoulder twisted back into place with a sickening crack and curled away from the two men, groaning in pain. Malik took advantage of the moment and tended to the wounds on his back.

"Is he still conscious?" he asked Aliyah.

Pressing a cold cloth to Caleb's shoulder, she glanced down to see his face. "No."

"Good," Malik said and rolled him onto his back.

"Let us tend him, Malik," Aliyah said quietly. "The others may need you."

Malik looked up in surprise, then nodded. "Call me if you need my help," he said, rising to his feet.

"I shall," she promised.

He checked on Yusuf briefly and walked out.

"I wouldn't have traded places with that poor fool on a good day," Yusuf groaned as he sat up. "But especially not today."

"You shouldn't be moving, Yusuf," Aliyah admonished gently as she cleaned Caleb's injuries. "How are you feeling?"

"I am alright, Sister," Yusuf assured her. He shifted a little more so he could see Caleb better. "He's been in Richard's camp for months, now. Nigh on a year. How did they catch him now?"

Ibrahim shook his head. "We weren't able to ask him."

Caleb came to, then. "Water," he rasped weakly.

Aliyah raised his head and pressed her flask to his lips. He tried to hold the flask himself but couldn't keep his arm up long enough. Fear filled his expression when he realized just how weak he was.

Aliyah pressed her hand to his forehead, shushing him gently. "You're safe, Caleb," she soothed. "It's over now."

He swallowed hard. "Al…" his voice was just the barest whisper and his eyes started to roll back.

"What is it?" Aliyah urged, seeing the panicked urgency in his eyes as he fought to stay awake.

 _They have to know! Robert isn't here! Robert isn't the danger!_

He tried to speak again, even as he lost consciousness. As she laid his head down, she caught sight of a dark bruise on the side of his head and when she pressed her hand against it, it was hot to the touch.

"This could have killed him," she said, drawing Ibrahim's attention to the injury. "The fact that they deprived him of sleep may have actually kept him alive."

"I doubt they intended that," Ibrahim scoffed.

They resumed their work in silence and voices filtered into the room.

"Peace?!" she heard Malik exclaim incredulously.

"I told you, Malik, the others I have slain have said much the same," Altair sounded both certain and perplexed.

"That would make them out allies. And yet, we have killed them."

"Make no mistake, Malik. We are nothing like these men. Their goal may be noble, but the methods they would use to achieve it are not. At least, that is what Al-Mualim told me," he spoke the last words as though they were a confession.

"What is your plan, then?"

"I will attend the funeral and confront Robert," he answered with all the gravity of a vow.

"The sooner, the better," she heard the satisfaction in Malik's voice.

Silence settled once more and she assumed Altair had gone to finish his assignment.

"Before I leave, there is something I must say," the Assassin spoke hesitantly.

"Be out with it, then," Malik replied, though his voice lacked the impatience that usually accompanied the demand.

She almost missed Altair's next words. "I've been a fool."

"Normally, I would make no argument," Malik answered with a slight laugh. "But what are you talking about? What is this?"

"All this time," Altair sounded grieved, "I never told you I was sorry. I was too proud. You lost your arm, you lost Kadar, because of me. You had every right to be angry. You had every right to demand my life."

Aliyah held her breath, waiting for Malik's answer, certain that Altair was, as well.

"I do not accept your apology."

Her heart fell and she felt tears burning behind her eyes.

 _Malik, all this time…you know he has changed…I thought you had forgiven him…_

"I understand," Altair's voice was empty.

Aliyah sighed quietly. _Of course, he understands._

"No, you don't," Malik spoke again and she heard a surprising warmth in his tone. "I do not accept your apology because _you_ are not the same man who went with me into Solomon's Temple. _You_ have nothing to apologize for."

Aliyah sat back on her heels, her eyes closed in blissful relief.

"I am just as much to blame," Malik went on, ashamed. "Perhaps, if I had not been so envious, I would not have been so careless, myself."

"No, Malik," Altair argued.

"As we share in our victories, so we share our defeats," Malik replied solemnly. "Rest, Brother, so you will be ready for your task."

Aliyah finished suturing a gash and moved to tend a deep one across Caleb's palm.

"Altair," Malik's voice was louder, as though calling the man back. "You should know, we found Caleb. The Crusaders had discovered him in their midst and…he has not fared well. He did not betray us, but they may be better prepared for you, regardless."

"What did he learn?" Altair demanded.

"He has not been able to tell us."

"Keep him alive until I return. I need him to tell me what he knows."

Aliyah and Ibrahim finished their work, bandaging Caleb and making him comfortable, then joined Malik in the main room.

"How is he?" Malik asked.

"Resting," Aliyah said. "They beat him worse than we had originally thought."

He nodded and sighed.

"I shall rejoin the others," Ibrahim said. "Unless, I am needed here?"

Malik shook his head. "No. Thank you, Ibrahim."

The Assassin nodded and left but Aliyah didn't follow him. Malik felt her watching him and looked up from his map. He straightened and held out his arm and she immediately walked into his embrace, wrapping her arms around him.

"You heard?" he asked and felt her nod against his chest. "I hope he is successful."

She looked up at him, hearing the worry in his voice.

"Robert de Sable is no fool," Malik told her. "He knows we are coming for him."

"Altair has not failed, yet," Aliyah reminded him. "Maybe, after this, the war will end soon."

He kissed her forehead. "I hope so. Are you staying?"

She nodded and smiled.

"Good," he said and nudged her into a chair. "Sit," he commanded, handing her a book.

She shook her head, laughing, but did as he asked. Barely half an hour passed and suddenly, the city's bells began their panicked pealing.

"I trust this means he was successful," Malik remarked.

Aliyah fought her urge to smile at his dry, accepting tone where once, this had would have ignited his temper.

Then, he frowned and went to stand outside. Curious, Aliyah joined him and he held up his hand, motioning her to silence while he listened to the frantic cries of the people.

"There's a murderer in the city!"

"He tried to kill everyone at the funeral!"

"Madness! This is all utter madness!"

"Something is wrong," he said with quiet concern, walking back inside. "This was the one kill that he would have taken care with its completion..." he trailed off, still listening to the panic outside, only able to discern that something had gone horribly wrong at the funeral.

A little while later, Altair dropped through the lattice and rushed inside. "It was a trap!" he exclaimed, anger and worry in his voice.

Malik spun around. "I heard the funeral dissolved into chaos," he said, his eyes darting over the Assassin, checking for injuries. "What happened?"

"Robert de Sable was never here!" Altair told him, his fist clenching in frustration. "He was expecting me and sent another his stead."

"How is that possible?" Aliyah demanded and suddenly remembered Caleb's gasping words.

 _Robert…is…not…_

 _Not what, Caleb? Were you trying to tell us Robert wasn't in Jerusalem?_

Malik's eyes widened in alarm. "You must go to Al-Mualim! He must know of this!"

Altair shook his head. "There is no time," he ground out in frustration. "She told me where Robert has gone, what he plans. If I return to Masyaf, he may succeed and if he does, I fear we will be destroyed."

Malik shook his head and turned to look at one of the maps on the wall. "We have killed most of his men," he said confidently, studying the mountains around the fortress. "He cannot hope to mount a proper attack. Wait," he turned back to face Altair, his brow furrowed in confusion, "did you say…she?"

"Yes! It was a woman!" Altair confirmed, still in a state of disbelief. "But never mind that now, Robert plans to plead his case to Richard and Salah al-Din and unite them against us."

Malik put his hand on the table as though he needed something to steady himself. "You must be mistaken," he insisted desperately. "This makes no sense, Altair! These two men would never unite."

"Yes, Malik, they would," Altair told him grimly. "The men I killed were important to both leaders. The plan is ambitious, but there is every possibility that it would work."

"Brother, things have changed and Al-Mualim must know," Malik urged, a cold stone of fear settling in his stomach. "We cannot act without our Master's permission, it could compromise the Brotherhood. I thought…" a certain desperation and grief tinted his words now, "I thought you had learned this."

"Malik, you wield the Creed and its tenets like a shield!" Altair shouted in frustration. "Stop hiding behind it! Al-Mualim has been keeping things from us! Was it not you who told me that we cannot know anything, only suspect?"

Aliyah stiffened at Altair's accusation of cowardice.

Malik bowed his head. "Yes, I said so."

Altair's voice dropped from a shout to a menacing growl. "Well, I _suspect_ that this business with the Templars goes far deeper and once I have finished with Robert, I will ride for Masyaf and I _will_ have answers!"

Aliyah looked at Malik, desperately wanting him to refute Altair's allegations.

 _He cannot…he cannot believe the Master would…betray us?_

"But, perhaps," he looked at Malik hopefully, "perhaps, you could go. Now. Ahead of me."

* * *

Caleb opened his eyes and blinked painfully in the light. Then, his vision cleared and he touched his battered side, testing for pain when he breathed. Then, he touched his head and winced at the still sensitive bruise.

 _Too bad Ibrahim killed you, Gerard. I was looking forward to it._

He flipped back the blankets and sat up, only then feeling the throbbing ache in his dislocated shoulder.

 _You too, John._

He clenched his teeth and stood, meeting Yusuf's shocked eyes.

"A couple of hours ago, you could barely speak," Yusuf remarked.

Caleb nodded and stood still for a moment, taking some deep breaths. "This is important," he said and left the room, a hand on the wall for balance.

* * *

Malik shook his head. "I cannot leave the city," he said and suddenly, he sounded like a trapped man.

"Then walk among its people, listen, find the servants of the ones I killed," Altair insisted, almost begging for his help. "You have always been perceptive, perhaps you will see something I could not."

Malik was silent for a moment, suddenly feeling ill as the implication settled in his mind. "I—I do not know. You must know!" he exclaimed when Altair opened his mouth to protest. "You must know what you are asking me to consider. I must think on this."

Altair nodded. "Do what you must, my friend. But I must ride for Arsuf. Every moment I delay is another moment Robert gains toward success."

Malik nodded. "Be careful, Brother."

"I will. You have my word," Altair said and rushed from the room.

Aliyah looked at Malik with wide eyes.

 _I have not felt so afraid in years._

"Malik," she began, then her gaze shifted past him to the dim hallway. "Caleb!" she exclaimed in shocked horror.

Malik spun around to see the tortured Assassin walking toward them, slowly but determinedly. When Aliyah went to steady him and lead him to a chair, he brushed her away, gently but firmly.

"Malik, you need to gather your men," Caleb said, his voice still harsh from so many days with just the bare minimum of water. "Altair…" he paused to catch his breath. "He is right."

"No," Malik growled.

"Al-Mualim summoned me back to Masyaf. But before I left, I took Robert's journal," Caleb went on. "I…His men pursued me and I thought I had escaped them, but the Templars caught me on the road to Masyaf. But, they didn't catch me as much as…they were _waiting_ for me. The only question they asked was where the Bureaus were located. It seemed that they knew everything else."

"I will _not_ hear this!" Malik shouted angrily.

"The only who knew who I was— _where_ I was—was Al-Mualim!" Caleb matched his volume. "Altair only knew because he was the Master's pet."

" _I_ knew where you were, Caleb," Malik scoffed.

Caleb narrowed his eyes. "You knew I was among the Crusaders," he said. "Did you know I was in Richard's camp before Altair told you so?" He made his point almost smugly.

Malik fell silent, knowing he was right.

"You don't trust him," Caleb said and Malik gave him a sharp look. Caleb ignored it. "And you won't believe it until you see it for yourself."

"What do you mean?" Malik asked.

"I hid the journal in Solomon's Temple, in the ruins below," Caleb told him. "I was not willing to risk endangering the Bureau and my intention had been to send word to Altair."

 _Yeah, we see how that worked out._

"I'll gather the others," Caleb said before either of them could speak again and walked out without another word.

"Caleb, you can't go out there! You haven't healed!" Aliyah followed him but was only able to watch him climb to the roof and vanish.

"But this does not make sense," she protested softly when she came back inside.

"No," Malik said quietly. "In a way, it does make sense." He strode to his bedroom and opened the chest at the foot of his bed.

"What are you going to do?" Aliyah asked from the doorway.

"I am going to the ruins," he replied, strapping on his blades.

"I am coming with you," she stated firmly.

"No, you aren't," he said flatly. "You will stay here." He turned around to find her mere inches from him, a challenge burning in her dark eyes.

"Order me to stay, and you will force me into disobedience," she told him. "Both as one of your informants and as your wife."

For a moment, he was speechless.

 _I will also put at a greater risk. If I order you to stay and you leave, I will have no way of knowing where you are._

"Very well," he said, both displeased and relieved that he wouldn't be alone. "Gather your weapons."

She slipped out of the brown robe covering her white garments, revealing every blade she owned and smiled at his startled expression.

"You gave me your word," he sputtered at last. "If I let you leave, that you would not—"

She silenced him with a kiss, then another when he insisted. "I did not break my word," she assured him. "I would never. But I would not allow myself to be take quietly, either."

"Well, no…no, I would not want that," he told her.

"Let us see what Caleb left for us," she said. "Are you going to change your robes?"

"No, there isn't time. Come, we need to leave."

The sun was sinking lower in the sky by the time they found the entrance to the caverns. Malik held out his lantern and let Aliyah light it, then took a breath to steel himself in the face of the dark opening in the rocks.

"I never wanted to come back to this place," he said quietly.

Aliyah touched his shoulder, turning him toward her. "I'll go," she told him gently. "I don't mind."

He gave her a grateful half-smile but shook his head and strode forward with firm steps. He remembered the way clearly, every dip in the ground, every stone hanging low from the ceiling, and each step twisted the sharp pain in his chest. Then, suddenly, a dark smear on the stone, like old blood, the size of a man's hand caught his attention and as they continued, he saw more of them. Some were higher, some were on the floor but they were all so far apart that he would have missed them if he hadn't been searching for them. Suddenly, the markings ended and after the next bend, the tunnel opened into the cavern that held the ruins and he stopped on the edge, assailed by a hundred memories.

 _Robert was there, by the entrance to the temple…Kadar and I…we…_

His eyes fell to the places he and his brother had fought, where he had been pinned by a Templar's blade and forced to watch his brother die.

Aliyah stepped forward and took the lantern from his trembling hand. He gave her a look that was tortured, pleading and she caressed his cheek.

"I know," she said simply. They hadn't spoken the entire time they had been in the caves and she wouldn't have been surprised to learn that he had forgotten she was with him.

Tears pooled in his eyes, glistening in the lantern light. "I…can't," he begged hoarsely. He looked out over the cavern again. "I never wanted to come back to this place. I lost my brother…my worth…and to believe that Al-Mualim was at the heart of it all…"

She wrapped an arm around his waist, feeling the odd mix of coolness and warmth in his robe as the chill of the cave competed with his body heat.

"But neither can I walk away," he said, a sudden steel in his tone even as a tear slid down his cheek. "We were taught to question everything. Everything but the one who taught us to question everything," he amended with a bitter scoff. "I will not live my life in ignorance, no matter how painful the knowledge may be."

With that, he stepped to the edge and jumped down, his robe billowing up like a raven's wings. Something about the sight made her smile, comforted her the way seeing him in his white robes always did. She followed him without hesitation and he didn't stop until they reached the cavern floor and his gaze fell on the place where Kadar had died.

Al-Mualim's words came back to him, then.

 _Am I not to blame?_

He had dismissed the idea and never reconsidered it. Even now, he told himself that he was searching out Robert's journal only so he would have the proof to refute Altair's and Caleb's claims of their Master's betrayal. He crossed the floor, a lethal precision to his stride as though he meant to execute a target, not find a book.

"Where would he have hidden it?" Aliyah asked, her voice echoing softly in the cavern.

Malik studied the area for a moment. "He was on the run, so he would not have had time for an elaborate hiding place," he thought aloud. "He said he had intended to send word to Altair, but I cannot imagine that he wouldn't have devised another way for it to be found in case his plans never came to fruition."

 _Where did you hide it, Caleb?_

His gaze suddenly found a dark smear on the stone. He went to investigate it and found a series of similar markings that ended near a pile of rubble.

"Aliyah, bring the lantern," he called and as soon as she had, he started digging through the stones. The journal was not there.

He heaved a frustrated sigh and straightened—and his gaze alighted on the crumbling ledge above them. "Aliyah," he called her attention to the ledge.

She nodded, handed him the lantern, and climbed the wall. Her healing muscles objected to the exertion but she ignored the pain and pulled herself over the edge. She peered into the dark recesses and gave a triumphant shout when she laid her hands on a worn, leather book. She dropped back down to him, and her knees collapsed beneath her in protest. She groaned, more in frustration than pain and immediately regretted it when she saw Malik's contrite expression.

"I have it," she told him with a satisfied smile. "Let's go."

Malik set the lantern down on a shattered pillar. "No," he said, taking the book from her. "No, I will put this to rest, here and now." He sat and opened the journal, a frown of determination on his face. He turned the pages, skimming the words and his expression turned grieved.

 _The Apple is close. It must be! For miles, I have scoured this God-forsaken land. My Brothers and I are patient, but to be so close and yet, know nothing of its location, is almost too much to bear. I have received word from a man. Al-Mualim. He claims to share our goals, and says that he has the information we need. To think, after all these years, we will finally be able to bring peace to this world! Men, at their foundations, are violent and corrupt, and their thoughts only turn to these things. If left to their own devices, they will burn the world. The Apple will enable us to stop this._

"No," he whispered, shaking his head in denial. "How? How could this be?"

Aliyah knelt beside him and place her hand on his knee to remind him that he wasn't alone. He flipped through the pages, unsure of what he was looking for until his eyes alighted on an entry that pierced him like a blade.

 _We had the Apple. Finally, after all these years, we found it, right where the old man said it would be. I was apprehensive, at first, working with information given to me from Al-Mualim, but I believed our goals were the same. And then, that old man—may God condemn him to Hell!—he sent his dogs after it! My men killed one of them and the others escaped. I will have it back. If I must burn the entire Holy Land, I will take it back. I look forward to prying it from his cold, dead fingers. No one must be allowed to interfere with our work, with our mission. The Assassins will learn this, just as others have before them._

Malik sat back, suddenly unable to breathe, a look of utter devastation on his face.

"Malik," Aliyah said softly, her own heart breaking to see the savage pain ripping through her beloved husband.

"It is true," he said, absolute agony lacing his words. "How? How can this have happened?" He looked at her as he spoke, as though desperately hoping she could answer the question.

 _Am I not to blame, Malik?_

"Yes, he is to blame," Malik said emptily, lacking the strength to give his pain a voice.

She recognized the lost, shattered look in his eyes and she sat down beside him and pulled him against her, shushing him gently.

"I do not understand," he whispered.

"Neither do I," she replied softly. "We may never. The question we must ask now is, what are we going to do?"

"I don't know," he said tonelessly.

"Malik, our Brothers need you," she said. "Altair and Caleb are the only ones who know the truth and no one will accept it from them. But you, they will hear."

He sat up and took a deep, shuddering breath, steadying himself. "There is only one thing left for us to do. I will not turn away from this. Al-Mualim will answer for his betrayal. I will not lose any more Brothers. Not in this way. Not betrayed by our own Master."

He stood, pulling her up with him and they climbed out of the cavern and made their way back through the tunnels. When they emerged outside, stars were shining in the twilight sky and Caleb and the other Assassins were waiting on them.

"Well?" Caleb said gruffly. He had found a set of robes and weapons but he wasn't wearing his hood.

Malik met his demanding gaze and saw Caleb's expression soften slightly. "A risky hiding place, Caleb," he said. "But clever, nonetheless."

"The best I could manage at the time," Caleb replied.

 _Contingency planning. Yeah, I'm fricking James Bond, baby._

"You were right," Malik told him, a mixture of despair and resolve in his eyes. He looked at his men. "Brothers, Al-Mualim has betrayed us. He has sided with the Templars—"

"The Crusaders?" Farran asked. "Why?"

Malik shook his head. "The Templars are not only Crusaders, they are Saracens, as well," he told them wearily. "It is an Order, not unlike our own. They claim to desire peace, but the peace they strive for is enslavement."

"Dai," Ibrahim began cautiously. "I do not understand."

Malik met his concerned gaze. "I know," he said apologetically. "There is no time to explain things as they need to be. But, I ask that you trust me, regardless."

"What do you need us to do?" Ibrahim asked.

"We must meet Altair in Masyaf," Malik replied, somewhat stunned that they gave their trust so easily to him when they understood nothing, had no answers to their questions.

"He means to have answers, then," Caleb said with grim satisfaction.

Malik nodded. "We must hurry, and pray Al-Mualim will not have turned our Brothers against us."

Ibrahim stepped forward. "Does this have anything to do with the Templar treasure you brought to Al-Mualim?"

Malik was slow to answer. He looked over his men, seeing the same intensity in their eyes, and finally looked at Caleb. The spy gave him the barest nod and he knew Caleb had told them about at least some of the journal's contents.

"Yes," he answered. "It has everything to with the Templar treasure."

Ibrahim's jaw twitched with sudden anger and the men behind him growled amongst themselves.

"Then, Al-Mualim is responsible for Kadar's death," the younger Assassin stated dangerously. "Whether he is at the heart of this scheme, or just a foolish, old man, he will answer for that, at least."

"We have horses," Caleb announced.

Malik nodded in approval, Ibrahim's words suddenly, and unexpectedly, easing the pain in his heart. "Jamal, Hakeem, ride to Damascus and Acre. Warn the Assassins there. The rest of us will ride to Masyaf."

They left the cave entrance, took their mounts and set off.

Worry settled heavily on Malik as he rode. Al-Mualim would expect them, of that he was sure. If Altair had survived his hunt for Robert, something else he was sure had happened, then he would arrive in Masyaf before them. He had asked too many questions, found too many answers and Al-Mualim had to know that Altair had learned of his involvement. The entire situation had his instincts screaming at him that he was leading his men into a trap.

 _Altair, he will be waiting for you, Brother. Please, be cautious—for once, be cautious._


	32. Chapter 32

A/N: Hihi, everybody! Finally got my flow back (I hope)! Just so you know, it is currently 3:30 am (sshh, don't tell) and this chapter forced me to neglect homework (don't tell that, either). It just demanded to be finished and hey, who am I to refuse such a thing? I know this part of the game was a tragedy, but geez, writing it somehow made it worse. There are some deviations, trust me, you will see them, mainly to do with the in-game dialogue. All alterations were done with respect, as always.

Shoutouts to 1Corinthians 1313, LadyRaider92 and MagicInTheStars! Thanks so much for the reviews! They made my day and made me feel equally bad that I am so late uploading :(

LadyRaider92, Caleb is quite the curiosity, isn't he? ;)

Enjoy! Don't be afraid to drop a review! Especially since this one's a little rough. Oh, and just as a warning, there are multiple POV swaps but they are necessary.

A/N: Made some minor corrections. That's what writing at 3am does for me :[

* * *

"There is Altair's stallion!" Aliyah called over the drumming hooves of their galloping mounts. Malik nodded and veered toward the white horse, guiding his brown mare into the ravine and out of sight of the gate.

"I had hoped we would arrive before him," he said grimly and laid his hand on the stallion's neck. "He has not been here long," he announced, feeling the heat and quivering muscles in the animal's body.

"He will go after Al-Mualim," Aliyah said. "Even if we encounter no resistance in the village, we will be too late to assist him."

"There is a path through the mountains," Caleb said, dismounting easily. He jerked his head farther down the ravine and started walking. "It will take us past the village."

Malik followed him without hesitation, Aliyah and others on his heels. "Caleb," he called the spy's name in confusion. "I have never seen a path through the mountains."

"I discovered it by accident some time ago," Caleb answered. "I nearly broke my leg," he muttered.

 _I went looking for it but I wasn't expecting to find it where I did. That counts as an accident, right?_

The ravine ended in a sheer wall and a groan of dismay came from the Assassins.

"Caleb," Ibrahim said, hoping desperately that there was another way.

Caleb ignored him and kept walking. He kept a hand on the rocks as he went and after what felt like an eternity, he found a crack in the stone, the entrance to the defile. He vanished into the rock and the others followed as quickly as they could. The sounds of battle echoed up over their heads, resounding off the cliffs.

"Hurry!" Malik urged.

The path was almost too narrow for a grown man to walk down straight and at times, they were sideways with the stone walls pressing against their chests and backs. Even still, Caleb tried to increase his pace, gripping the rock for extra purchase and soon, his bloody handprints marked the trail.

Suddenly, the path ended between two peaks and Malik could see Altair as the Assassin finished off the last of five opponents that blocked his path. Then, more charged up the hill behind him.

"Go, go!" he ordered and they ran across the open ground. When they came to a gap in the rock with nothing but the ground far below them, Malik went over the edge, sliding down the nearly vertical mountainside, dragging his arm behind him in an attempt to control his descent. The rocks ripped his sleeve apart, tearing viciously into his hand and arm. More Assassins were joining the attack on Altair and for all of his skill, he wouldn't last long against so many. When his feet hit the ground, his downward momentum jarred him into a tumble he barely managed to control. He surged to his feet and sprinted toward the fighting, hearing his men mutter various oaths as they hit the ground.

* * *

Altair turned slowly, trying to keep his attackers in sight. Suddenly, he heard someone running up behind him and before he could turn, he felt steel bite into his side. He swore explosively and spun, bringing his short blade down on the man's neck.

"Brothers! Stop this madness!" he shouted.

More surrounded him until he had a rough count of twenty.

"Brothers," he looked at their faces, their empty eyes, the weapons in their hands. "Please."

They charged him all at once.

He extended his hidden blade and slammed it through one man's temple while swinging his short blade in a backhanded swipe that slit another's throat. A sword opened a gash on his upper arm and he lashed out with a vicious kick that caved the man's ribs. Before his foot even came back down, a blade bit deeply into his side and a boot drove hard into his stomach. He caught himself before he fell completely prone and felt the wind off another blade as it passed over his head. He turned and drove his fist into a knee, snapping it sideways with a sickening crunch. As he stood, he slammed his blade up through another man's chin as he raised his sword above his head, preparing to cleave Altair in two. Pain flared hot as a blade raked across his back and he hissed a curse as he spun and decapitated his assailant. As he turned to meet another attack, the man suddenly collapsed with a gurgling cry, clutching the dagger in his throat. Five more around him fell and the others began backing away, trying to find the threat. More fell, some wounded, some dead and the rest fled the battle.

"Altair! Here!"

Altair stared up at the ridge, shielding his eyes from the sun and made out Malik's form waving to get his attention. Altair waved to let him know he'd heard and Malik slid down the ridge to the road.

"You picked a fine time to arrive," Altair said breathlessly, clutching his side.

"So it would seem," Malik replied, his voice filled with relief and concern. He strode forward. "Let me see that wound," he insisted, seeing the blood pouring through his fingers.

"Later," Altair told him gruffly, only to have Malik knock his hand away and probe the wound with his fingers. He groaned sharply at the flare of pain.

"This requires more attention than I can give at the moment," Malik told him.

"Malik," Caleb called his name and tossed him a bandage roll.

"Guard yourselves," Altair said through gritted teeth and Malik tied the bandage around his waist and knotted it tightly. "Al-Mualim has betrayed us."

"Yes," Malik agreed solemnly. "And betrayed his Templar allies, as well."

"How do you know?" Altair asked, and his gaze strayed to Caleb.

Malik glanced at the spy, as well, then nodded, confirming Altair's suspicion. "After we spoke," he began slowly, "I returned to the ruins beneath Solomon's Temple. Before his capture, Caleb had managed to steal Robert de Sable's journal and secret it away in the cavern. The pages were filled with revelations, things I would have believed to be a madman's ramblings had there not also been information there that I knew to be true. What I read…it broke my heart."

 _Kadar. Little brother._

His expression was pained, yet resolved. "But it also opened my eyes. You were right, Brother. All along, our Master has used us! We were never meant to save the Holy Land, but deliver it to him! He must be stopped!"

Altair recognized the fire in Malik's dark eyes and while it bolstered his spirit to see it once again, it also filled him with concern.

"Be careful, Malik. What he has done to the others he will do to us, given the chance," he warned grimly. "Stay far from him."

"What do you propose?" Malik demanded, both eager and affronted. "My blade arm is strong!" he said clenching his fist. "And my men remain my own. It would be a mistake not to use us!"

Altair paused, his mind working furiously even as Malik's grim determination, his demand that Altair command them in the coming battle, stunned him.

 _You would follow me so readily, Malik? I have not earned that trust from you…_

"Distract these thralls," Altair told him, waving his arm in the direction the others had fled. "Attack the fortress from behind. If you can keep them away from me, I may be able to reach Al-Mualim."

Malik ducked his head in a nod of deference. "I will do as you ask, Dai," he said.

The title caused pain to twist in Altair's stomach.

"Malik, the men we fight," Altair said, his voice urgent as he recalled the quick, devastating attack Malik had led just moments before, "their minds are not their own. If you could avoid killing them…"

Malik's eyes widened and he looked away, suddenly grieved and shamed for the lives he had taken. "Yes," he said quietly. "Though he has broken the tenets of the Creed, that does not mean that we must, as well. I will do what I can," he vowed.

Altair nodded gratefully. "That is all I ask. Safety and peace, my friend," he said and in the farewell, there was a request.

Malik bowed, pressing his hand to his heart. "Your presence here will deliver us both," he said with calm certainty.

Altair ran up the road toward the fortress and Malik turned to look out over the village. "We will fight here," he said to his men. "We have enough room that we can move about and little enough of it that we can control the mob. Caleb, Ibrahim," he called the two men to him. "I need you farther up the path, where it narrows. If any force their way past us, stop them."

"Yes, Dai," Ibrahim said and they made their way to their posts and the others positioned themselves along the road, weapons drawn, prepared for the next onslaught.

"Aliyah," Malik called her away from the group.

"Yes," she answered, and her tone was that of one of his Assassins, not his wife.

"I need you inside the fortress," he told her in a tone that would brook no argument.

Anger flashed in her eyes and he remembered that her very existence here had begun with an act of defiance. Even before she challenged them to weave her into the fabric of the Brotherhood, the day they had met, when he saw her tumble down the sand dune, she had dared Death to come to her.

He grasped her arm. "Al-Mualim must be stopped today," he said.

She softened at the uncertainty and fear in his eyes. "You don't believe Altair will succeed," she said.

"I do not doubt his skill, nor his conviction," Malik told her. "But at this time, there is nothing else I am certain of. I know what I am asking of you," he said in pained voice. "If I had any hope of success, I would go myself."

 _Altair warned us to stay as far from Al-Mualim as possible and I am sending you into the lair of the beast…again._

"Altair warned us to stay as far Al-Mualim as possible," she said, her eyes clouding with fear. "My knowledge is even less than yours."

 _And if he turns me, Malik? What then? Would you be able to kill me to survive or would I awaken to see your blood on my blade?_

Hearing his fears spoken sent a shaft of pain through his heart. "For this, you are the most capable," he told her, fighting to keep his voice firm, trying desperately to be her Dai and not her husband.

"I believe I would serve better here," she said disguising her rising panic behind an even tone.

"Here is not where I need you," he replied gruffly.

"Malik, you just sent away two of your best," she told him, and he finally heard the panic rippling in her voice. "And now, you would send away another?"

"Malik! They are coming!" Khadim called, punctuating her question.

She looked and caught her breath at the sight of their brethren charging up the road, forty of them, perhaps more.

"Malik," she pled, her voice choked to whisper, "there are too many."

His expression was hard and cool as he studied their enemy, judging their attack critically. However, when he looked down at her, his eyes softened, taking on the gentle look that was only meant for her.

"I know," he said softly, grief in his eyes.

Her mouth opened in horror and tears pooled in her eyes as she realized he did not expect to survive long during the next few moments. "Why?" she asked plaintively, swallowing the sob that rose in her throat, so many questions in that one word.

He smiled, and his voice filled with love and pride. "Because you survived Pierre, Saamir. You took their lives and returned. And because," he huffed an amused laugh, "to this day, I have not been able to number the times I watched you sneak out of your window to watch the sun rise."

Her horror turned to amazement and her tears slipped down her cheeks. Even then, so long ago, he had watched over her.

She nodded, swallowing hard. "Yes, Dai," she said, finally agreeing to his command.

He tipped her chin up and kissed her soundly. "That is not a farewell," he told her firmly.

She smiled sadly. "No, of course not."

"I will find you when this is over," he vowed.

She nodded. "I will look for you," she promised and ran up the path.

Malik watched her briefly, then turned to his men and drew his sword. "Ready yourselves, Brothers," he said, watching their ensnared brethren climb the road toward them. "Spare them when you can, but do not become martyrs to a madman's whim."

* * *

Aliyah climbed the rock face, cutting her hands in her haste even as tears blurred her vision. They had not promised that they would survive, only that they would find each other. She pulled herself onto the narrow ledge and sprinted for the fortress, sacrificing caution for speed. An arrow skipped across the stone by her head and she hurled a knife, not intending to kill, only to stun. She leapt from the ledge and grasped the rough stone of the fortress, climbing as quickly as she could. Originally, she had planned on climbing through a window and reaching the ramparts that way but her climb had taken too much time. As she pulled herself over the edge, a shadow fell across her and she kicked out, sending the man staggering backward. She stood and charged him, slamming him against the door to one of the towers and stabbing a dagger through his hood and into the wooden frame. Then, she drove her elbow into the side of his head and as he went limp, she shoved another dagger into the lock to keep others from coming out. She then went to the other archer, retrieved her dagger from beside the unconscious man and sprinted along the rampart.

* * *

The sounds of the battle reached Ibrahim and Caleb and the two men stiffened, prepared to fight and wishing they were with their Brothers.

"That is considerably more than when we arrived," Ibrahim said worriedly. "I wish Malik would have kept us together."

"Do you understand our purpose here?" Caleb asked grimly. "We are the last bastion, you and I," he went on when Ibrahim looked him in something close to confusion.

A new fear settled into Ibrahim's eyes. "Malik would not even allow Aliyah into what little combat there was in Jerusalem," he said, looking back down the road where the battle was taking place.

Caleb glanced at him curiously.

 _Ah, so that's how that is, is it?_

"I'm sure he sent her away from the fighting," he assured the younger man. "He would not endanger us unnecessarily."

Ibrahim's eyes darkened as he recalled the blood all over the Regent's inner courtyard and the wounds that had covered her body.

"Hm," he grunted, choosing to keep his thoughts on that matter to himself.

* * *

Aliyah ran along the rooftop, circling around to the garden.

 _If I can come in behind him in the library, I may be able to kill him before anyone else dies. Before Malik…_

She shook that crippling thought from her head. Then, at the sound of the Master's voice, she dropped prone and slid toward the edge. Altair stood in the garden, his arms held out as though he was being forcibly restrained.

 _What is holding him?_

She crawled closer to the edge, straining to see the nature of his bindings and if she could free him. However, the only thing she could see around him was an odd golden light. Then, she saw Al-Mualim striding down the stairs into the garden and her throat tightened painfully as she gripped Malik's dagger.

 _Whether by Altair's hand or mine, justice will be done today._

"…unless you are afraid," Altair's voice wafted up to her and her stomach clenched at the taunt when she saw the sword in the Master's hand. In the other hand, he held an orb that pulsed with the same light as what surrounded Altair.

 _Is that it then? The Piece of Eden?_

"I have stood before a thousand men!" Al-Mualim cried, his voice angry and tainted with the same pride Altair had been punished for having. "All of them superior to you! All of them dead by my hand. I am not afraid," he snarled.

"Prove it, then," Altair dared him

"What could I possibly fear?" Al-Mualim asked haughtily, holding the orb up. "Look at the power I command!"

Suddenly, the Master became eight men, each wielding a sword, each holding the orb. Aliyah's chest constricted painfully and she felt bile rising in her throat.

"What is this?" she whispered in horror. Then, as the eight Master's surrounded Altair, she stood, desperate to help him, then remembered she was on the roof and falling would be fatal. The orbs suddenly pulsed and Altair was free, but the light spread over the garden as quickly as candlelight filling a dark room, passing over—no, through her. A hundred hot knives pierced her mind and clutched her head, screaming in agony as she collapsed to her knees. The searing pain vanished as quickly as it came and she realized she was sobbing, tears streaming down her cheeks and blood pouring from her nose. Gasping for breath, she struggled to her feet, one hand pressed to her head.

"Ah, hello my beauty."

 _No! No, it can't be!_

She spun at the voice, instantly drawing her short blade. Pierre Delacroix stood before her, his armor gleaming in the sun and his dead, gray eyes driving into her soul.

"Shall we continue our conversation?" he asked, a cruel smile twisting his thin lips.

Every breath she took trembled audibly and she stepped back from him.

"No," she shook her head in fierce denial. "No, this—this cannot be!"

"I underestimated you once," Saamir Rahimi stepped out from behind the massive Templar. "I will not do so again."

Suddenly, arms wrapped around her throat and pinned her arm behind her back, lifting her feet off the ground and smothering her in a smell she knew only too well.

"You still belong to me," Ra'id ibn Sabir hissed in her ear, "no matter how hard you try to persuade yourself otherwise."

She screamed and there was a note of hysteria in the sound. Years of training and assignments asserted themselves and she drove her elbow into his side, feeling her blade bite into her back. She knew it wouldn't hurt him, but it allowed her to move just enough that she could bring her dagger to bear on him. Her skills were sound, but her strength and speed were lacking and he dodged her strike easily, then casually backhanded her away. She held her blades in a death grip and struggled to maintain her footing on the roof tiles. She could feel the bruise forming under her eye and she backed away, trying to keep all three men in sight. Pierre drew his massive broadsword and Ra'id twirled the cruelly curved dagger he had always favored.

 _They are dead! These are naught but phantoms!_

Yet, they could wound her, which meant they could kill her.

Both men attacked her at once and she dodged out of the way, bringing her short blade down on Pierre's gauntleted wrist. In the same movement, she hurled Malik's dagger at Ra'id just as he turned to close the distance between them. The blade sunk deep in his chest and he staggered, then collapsed to his knees, folding over onto the roof. She spun away on pure instinct just as Saamir drove his blade toward her back. She backed away from him, from both of them. Then, with a half-mad shriek, she charged Saamir much as she had done the night she killed him the first time. He smirked and drew his short blade.

He spun and swung his blade and suddenly, she leaped, feeling the blade rip down the length of her right leg as she drove both feet into his chest, sending him over the edge. The impact knocked her back and she scrambled for purchase to keep from tumbling over the other the side. Before she could regain her feet, Pierre suddenly loomed over her and gripped her throat. Just as she thought he intended to crush the life from her, he shoved her away and she slid dangerously close to the same edge Saamir had gone over.

"I do hope you have wings, little bird," he smirked, following her to the edge. "You will need them."

* * *

Malik brought his sword to bear on one of the three men attacking Khadim, driving the hilt into the side of his head and catching another with the flat of the blade. The sickening smack nearly made him cringe but he had no time to dwell on it as another rushed him. Khadim leaped forward and pushed Malik behind him, taking on the attack. He knocked the man's sword away and kicked him hard in the chest, sending him staggering back…and into the blade of one of his ensnared brethren. Khadim looked away briefly, knowing he was to blame, then he and Malik stood back-to-back, facing down a group of ten.

"Brothers! Stay this madness!" Khadim begged them. They were all begging their Brothers to see reason but their pleas fell on deaf ears. Dozens of them lay incapacitated, a number of them also lay dead, much to their everlasting grief. Still, there were many still active in the attack and, unlike Malik and the others, they had no compunction about killing their Brothers.

Malik struck out and stunned a man that came too close then, just as quickly ran another through. His breathing was ragged and his men were exhausting quickly. He wiped away the blood that was running into his eye and kicked his next attacker, breaking the man's leg. As he glanced around, he saw three escape up the road, running past the wounded men who had tried to go before them. This time, however, he could do nothing to stop them.

In the few moments that the fighting paused while the men examined their opponents once more, he studied his men dismally. Each of them was wounded, some worse than the others and he wondered how they were still on their feet. Farran had ended up closest to the road at the edge of the fighting. No matter where he moved, they seemed to drive him back that way, as though they personally saw him as the one blocking their path. The boy could barely hold his sword up and as Malik watched, he dropped it and drew his short blade.

In that second, the attack began afresh and his men were slowly giving up the noble ideal of sparing their ensnared Brothers as the desire for survival reared its head. Yusuf made his way to Farran and the two men fought side-by-side, their bodies forming a wall to block the path to the fortress. The attackers charged them like madmen and drove them apart. Farran and Yusuf fought viciously, desperately and as Malik forced his way to them, four of the men trapped Farran between them and tore into him with their blades. A fifth stepped up and drove his sword through the Assassin's heart and in the moment that Yusuf had turned to help, another came at him from behind and swung his sword at the larger man's neck, severing his head cleanly.

Time seemed to freeze for Malik and suddenly, he felt as though he was back in Solomon's Temple. A chill settled in his core and he slid his sword into his belt and reached for his throwing knives. The ones who had butchered Farran may have escaped, but the one that killed Yusuf died with a blade in his throat.

* * *

Ibrahim grappled with the man just long enough to adjust his footing, then slammed him face-first into the rock face.

Caleb drove his open hand into a man's throat, causing him to freeze and gasp for air, while another managed to run past. He hadn't gone a full stride before Caleb caught him with a roundhouse kick to the head that left him sprawled on the ground.

"Did you learn that in Richard's camp?" Ibrahim asked, impressed despite himself.

"No," Caleb answered, knocking out the gasping man almost casually. "I learned it from my father."

"I do not believe I have had the honor of meeting him," Ibrahim said, eyeing another man charging up the hill with his sword drawn.

"No," Caleb said again. "He died many years ago."

 _A long,_ long _time ago. Or...a long time before? Ah, screw it. Doesn't matter._

Ibrahim drew his short blade and met the man's attack briefly before slamming the hilt into his head. He slumped to the ground and Ibrahim nudged him out of the way.

"We should be down there with them," he said in a grieved tone.

"If Malik and the others were our only priority, yes," Caleb said. "He sent us here because we were the most capable of this task. But if they fail—"

 _If? More like when._

"—and the full attack comes to us, we won't last long, especially not here. It's too narrow and even if it wasn't, there will be far too many for only the two of us."

"I suppose that Malik was hoping that they could thin their numbers enough so that when it came to us, we could finish the task," Ibrahim said quietly.

Caleb nodded.

 _Definitely a when. Glad he knows that._

* * *

Al-Mualim swung his blade and, despite his age, the impact jarred Altair's arm all the way up to his shoulder. He narrowed his eyes, waiting for the next strike. When it came, he dodged to one side, knocked the blade aside and drove his hidden blade into the Master's heart. Al-Mualim gasped in shock and pain and Altair gently lowered his body to the ground, grief and anger warring within him and the Piece of Eden rolled out of Al-Mualim's weakening grasp.

* * *

"NO! I YIELD!"

Khadim couldn't stop the downward movement of his sword but he twisted just enough that it sunk into the ground beside the cowering man.

"Please, Brother, I beg you," the man pled tearfully. "Spare me!"

Khadim looked around cautiously and saw similar scenes playing out all around him.

"Dear God, what have I done?!"

They all turned to see one of their Brothers crouching beside Dabir, a bloody sword in his hand.

Malik shoved past the man and knelt beside the Assassin. Dabir was trembling, clutching the deep wound through the side of his stomach and gasping in agony.

"Dai," he choked out fearfully when he caught sight of Malik.

"Be still, Dabir," Malik told him firmly. "Let me see," he lifted Dabir's hand and saw the dark blood welling from the wound.

Suddenly, the man was beside Dabir as well, pressing his robe against the wound. Dabir cried out in pain and tears slid down his face.

"Forgive me," the man begged. "Forgive me, Brother. Forgive me."

Dabir reached up and gripped his arm weakly but the pardoning gesture was clear. Then, he let his arm drop, lacking the strength to maintain his grip and his teeth began to chatter.

Malik pulled uncorked his flask with his teeth and trickled some water into Dabir's mouth. Khadim knelt by him and raised his head so he could drink more easily. Dabir seemed to grow paler by the second and he constantly moaned and thrashed weakly, trying vainly to escape the pain.

"I will fetch a physician," the man the Khadim had spared said and sprinted toward the village.

"M—Malik?" Dabir stammered weakly.

"Rest," Malik told him, pressing down on his chest to hold him still. "Just rest, Dabir. It is over."

"Go, Dai," Khadim urged. "Altair may need you."

Malik nodded and rose reluctantly. Sabir joined him and they sprinted up the path to the fortress, collecting Ibrahim and Caleb along the way.

* * *

Pierre gripped Aliyah's throat with one hand and placed his sword against her neck. His boot was on her short blade, pinning her hand and she couldn't reach her knives. The tiles dug into the cut in her back and her leg throbbed painfully. As he slid her shoulders over the edge, she lashed out with her free hand, digging her fingers into his eye. He screamed a vile curse and punched her in the side of the head as he reared back from her. The blow was a glancing one and he'd had to release her throat to do it. She gripped the neck of his tunic and pulled herself up. Finally able to reach her knives, she slammed one into the side of his neck over and over until he slumped over, dead. She used his collapsing weight to pull her away from the edge of the roof and the sea below and crawled away from him toward the place where Ra'id had died. His body had vanished but Malik's dagger glinted in the sun. When she finally reached the blade, it was all she could do to grasp it and slide it into its hidden sheath. She managed to sit up and ripped off strips of her robe, tying them around her bleeding leg to staunch the wound.

Then, all of her pain crashed over her and she slowly sank to the sun-warmed tiles with a moan. There, alone in the silence, with the sun and the breeze, her fear and exhaustion overcame her and she began to sob, grieving for the Brothers she had lost and the Master whose betrayal had taken their lives.


	33. Chapter 33

A/N: Hihi! I'm still here! See? Okay, I have three confessions. 1) Early on, a good bit of this fiction was already written, which was why the updates came a little more steadily. 2) Believe it or not, we are working towards the end here and the closer we get, the harder it is for me to write it. What can I say? I'm attached to these guys and I'll be sad to see them go! 3) While my writer's block was still standing tall and solid, I got swept up into the Supernatural fandom and I now have 5 MORE fics in the works for that (at least 5 more, I'm sure more will happen). So, all of this, on top of of school projects (summer was supposed to be free, wasn't it?), is what has culminated in my (very) late uploads. Rest assured though! I will finish it and I will do so as quickly as I can. Promise!

Shoutouts to: DarcyfromdA, 1Corinthians 1313, Fluttershy 2059123, KiySky and Lithuiwen2016! Thank you guys sooo much for taking the time to review, it makes my day :)

Fair warning here, the last chapter was little rough but this one isn't much better...as far as roughness goes, that is.

Oh btw, this story will carry over into Revelations. I can't just end it with AC1 because that would leave it horribly incomplete.

Enjoy!

* * *

Silence fell heavily on Masyaf, broken only by low conversations and the cries of the wounded and grieving. Malik moved among the men, counting the dead, recognizing each face and with every one, his grief deepened. Their losses were not as substantial as they might have been, but his men had been too few and had been forced to kill some of their Brothers in order to survive long enough to save others. When he found Farran and Yusuf, he knelt by them and pressed his hand against their still chests.

"Forgive me, Brothers," he said softly. "I hope you have peace."

He continued on, searching the bodies, dead and wounded, looking for one face, listening for one voice.

 _My star, please do not let me find you here._

* * *

Aliyah dragged herself along the roof, feeling dangerously weak and fearing that if she stood, the breeze would push her over the edge. Finally, after an eternity of crawling, dragging her leg behind her like an injured dog, she reached the shadow of the rampart and the wind stilled. Holding her breath and bracing for pain, she gripped the stonework and pulled herself to her feet. As she put weight on her wounded leg, a groan of pain was ripped from her throat and a sob followed it. Clenching her teeth, she climbed up and rolled herself over the edge and fell limply to the walk, gasping for breath.

"Malik," she whimpered as tears slid down her face once more. She rolled onto her front, pushed herself up onto her uninjured leg and stood with a groan. Sick terror pierced her heart and she pressed a hand to her chest.

 _Please…_ please _be alive._

Slowly, painfully, gritting her teeth with each step, she walked to the closest tower and made her way down the stairs. The closer she came to the bottom, the more she was able to hear. Low voices, cries of pain. When she finally stepped out of the dimly lit fortress, the sight that greeted her made her reel. So many, so many of their Brothers were dead and many more were terribly wounded.

 _And for what? A madman's lust for power?_

Anger flared within her as she stepped outside but was quickly drowned by her fear. Malik had been badly outnumbered when he sent her to the fortress. She clung fiercely, desperately, to the belief that he was alive because he simply _had_ to be. She felt herself crumbling at the whisper of doubt that she so firmly held at bay in the back of her mind. Still, she was tormented by thoughts of him lying broken on the battlefield and tormented by the shame that she could ever doubt him.

 _Is that disloyal of me? I am the one that reminded him of his capability. If I doubt now…does that make it all a lie?_

She walked slowly to avoid jostling her leg and grit her teeth as she felt the wound shift open with each step. She searched the faces of her Brothers and strained her ears, listening desperately for Malik's voice. He would be here, minding his men, tending injuries, giving instructions.

"I only hope he finishes it before everyone finds out what he's doing," a low, unfamiliar voice caught her attention.

"So do I," another replied in the same manner, and she finally saw him through the crowd. "I understand his reasons, but I doubt anyone else will—"

"Ibrahim?" she called hesitantly.

Both Assassins turned and she recognized Caleb, as well.

"Aliyah!" Ibrahim's relief was obvious. "Are you alright?" he asked and a moment later, his gaze fell to her bloody leg.

"Where is Malik, Ibrahim?" she asked, her voice small and trembling despite her efforts.

"He is—" Ibrahim began, then glanced behind her. "Dai."

She turned, bracing for bitter disappointment. Malik stood there, his eyes alight with overwhelming relief and tender love.

"Malik!" she exclaimed hoarsely, hot tears filling her eyes as she took a quick, limped step forward. He came to meet her, wrapping his arm around her and, when she sagged against him, felt as though he was finally breathing again.

"My star!" he whispered against her cheek, his words only meant for her.

"Where is it, Malik?" she asked, her voice tight with desperate fear. "Where is the Piece of Eden?"

He gave her a puzzled look. "Altair has it."

"It must be destroyed," she told him, her voice low with horror. "It is _evil_! No man should have it!"

He cupped her cheek, shushing her gently. Then, his eyes widened with alarm when she stumbled and clutched his robe desperately to stay upright, her face contorted in a grimace of pain. He steadied her and immediately looked down, blanching at the sight of her wound.

"I have her, Dai," Ibrahim said, striding forward and lifting her effortlessly. "Where would you like me to take her?"

"Follow me," Malik replied and led the way into the fortress. "Aliyah? Are you still awake, my love?" he asked as they hurried down a corridor toward the Assassin's sleeping quarters.

"Yes," she answered through clenched teeth.

Ibrahim winced inwardly at the sound of the endearment.

 _You will be well taken care of, Aliyah. I promise._

Malik threw open the door to his old chamber and Ibrahim strode inside and laid her on the bed. She hissed in pain with the movement and a mere moment later, Caleb appeared, his arms laden with bandages and clutching a basin of hot water.

"Do you require assistance, Dai?" Ibrahim asked as Caleb set everything down by the bed.

"No," Malik replied and nodded to both men. "Thank you."

They nodded respectfully and walked out of the room, leaving the two of them alone.

Malik stroked her cheek, pain and grief in his eyes. "I tried to keep you away from the worst danger," he said, pressing his forehead to hers.

She smiled in spite of the pain. "I know," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck to assure herself that he was there, alive and whole. "How many of us are left?" she asked quietly.

He pulled back a little and dropped his eyes in grief. "Aside from Ibrahim and Caleb," he began slowly, "Askari, Khadim and Sabir."

Her eyes widened in horrified disbelief. "Farran and Yusuf?" she asked. The two men had been as close as brothers.

"Dead," he said painfully. "Killed while we held the road. And Dabir does not have long to live."

Aliyah had thought she had no tears left to shed. However, at the news of her beloved Brother's deaths, she felt the familiar burn in her eyes. "Why did this happen?" she asked plaintively.

"Because, what we truly fight against," he said, repeating his words from a conversation long past, "is Man's desire for power and control."

He knelt down and began cleaning the gash down her leg. Though he was accustomed to seeing wounds, both mild and gruesome, he marveled at her ability to stand, much less move about.

 _She climbed from the Regent's courtyard with six arrows in her and twice that many lacerations. This should not surprise me._

"I have nothing to give you for the pain," he told her.

She squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. "I will be alright," she promised. Even still, she clenched her teeth against a cry of pain when the needle passed through her flesh and gripped the bed until her hands turned white.

He worked steadily, his brow creased with a frown of concentration. He hadn't sewn even half of the wound when he could no longer bear the agonized whimpers she was trying so hard to stifle. He grasped the side of her head, his fingers buried in her soft, sweat-soaked hair and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.

"Forgive me," he begged tearfully. "I never…I would never…"

She pulled him down to her so that his head rested against her shoulder. She couldn't help but smile at the way he wrapped his arm around her, as though he was still trying to protect her from danger.

"Were you wounded?" she asked gently.

"No," he answered, sitting up and dashing his hand across his eyes, ashamed of himself. "Nothing serious."

She gave him a chiding look. "Have you been seen to?"

"There was no time," he said. "And it was not important." He heaved a defeated sigh. "Al-Mualim's betrayal, the deaths of our Brothers, and now this…" he stared dismally at her wound.

 _I did this to you. Again!_

She saw the brutal condemnation in his eyes, in the clench of his jaw and it put a sharp ache in her heart.

"Malik," she raised up on one elbow and pulled him close. "It must be done. And I would rather it be done by you than anyone else."

He closed his eyes. "You still trust me?" he asked in a tortured voice.

She kissed his cheek. "Always," she promised. "Do you need me to help?"

"No," he said quickly and took a breath to steady himself. "I've got it."

She nodded and laid back. "Just…do not stop," she said, a nervous tremor in her voice. She reached over to the table and took a cloth from the pile, rolled it and bit down on it. At least, this way, she would be quieter and he could work.

After what seemed like an eternity, Malik tied off the thread and wrapped a bandage around her leg. She pulled the rag from her mouth and took a deep breath now that she was free to do so. He wiped her tears away with his thumb and kissed her cheek, then the corner of her mouth, then her lips, lingering on each one, begging for her forgiveness. She held him there for a moment, returning his kiss, letting him feel her relief and joy at his survival…his nearness.

"I will find you a change of clothes," he said huskily and stood up with a soft groan as his knees protested the movement.

"Check the others, Malik," she said. "I'm not the only one who needs you."

He nodded and she held onto his hand so that his fingers dragged free as he left the room.

Malik closed the door quietly behind him and made his way through the fortress. He stepped outside and set out to find the rest of his men. Suddenly, someone collided into his back and he stumbled, reaching for a weapon, unsure if he needed to defend himself.

"Malik! You must come! You must speak sense to him! He cannot go through with this!"

Malik turned and his blood ran cold at the sight of the Assassin before him. Abdul ibn Bakir.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, his voice hard.

 _Of all our Brothers who died, why did you live?_

"Altair!" Abdul cried in panic. "He plans to burn our Mentor's body!"

Malik's eyes narrowed. For what Al-Mualim had done, he deserved to feed the birds and beasts with his corpse. However, he doubted that Abdul was alone in his sentiments and the thought alarmed him. He hurried down the road, exhausted and sore. Abbas came around the bend at a run, barreling into Malik, knocking him to the ground. His instincts screamed a warning and he rolled to his feet, stretching his stride a far as he could as he ran. Abbas had long harbored a deep bitterness for Altair and the very air in Masyaf felt volatile. He feared the worst.

He heard the mob before he saw it and doubled his efforts. His legs ached and his chest burned from the exertion, then panic swelled within him when he saw Altair in the midst of the crowd, surrounded by blades. Two men were forcing their way through the mob, trying to reach him and he recognized Ibrahim and Caleb. He had no time to feel relief, however, as he prepared to force his own way through.

"Altair!" he called out once he had broken free and immediately moved to deflect a blade away from the Assassin's back.

"Betrayer!" the mob shouted wrathfully.

"Defiler!"

Malik stood back to back with Altair while Ibrahim and Caleb drew others away from him.

"Brothers!" Malik shouted. "Altair is no traitor! Al-Mualim betrayed us! We all have suffered from it! We have no other assurance that he is dead! Would you prefer to live your lives in uncertainty and fear?!"

"What did you think would happen when you murdered our beloved Mentor?!" Abbas' voice rang out.

All eyes turned to the tower and a collective gasp came from the crowd at the sight of the golden orb in his hand.

Malik felt Altair stiffen in alarm.

 _Do they remember this? Is this how it happened?_

"Abbas! Stop!" Altair shouted and Malik heard the fear beneath the command. "You must listen to me!"

"Whatever this weapon is capable of, you are not worthy to wield it!" Abbas shouted, his voice filled with pride and wrath.

"No one is!" Altair cried, desperate to make the man see reason.

Suddenly, the orb pulsed and Abbas gave a gut-wrenching cry of pain as the golden light enveloped him and spread across Masyaf just as it had when Altair fought Al-Mualim for possession of it.

"No!" Altair cried and sprinted up the road toward the tower as the people around him collapsed with wails of agony.

Malik sank to his knees, clutching his head, groaning in pain as blood dripped from his nose. Ibrahim pressed his forehead to the ground, grinding his teeth and Caleb screamed, his voice laced with pain and defiance.

* * *

In the warmth of Malik's room, Aliyah was dozing. Though her leg still pained her, in the wake of the suturing she barely felt it. She glanced out the window and a hundred fond memories came to mind. One of her favorites was all the times she had snuck out of her window to watch the sun rise as a Novice.

Suddenly, she saw a golden light and felt the blood drain from her face.

"No," she gasped in horror. She pulled herself upright and stood, feeling the bite of the sutures pulling in her wound. She ignored it and staggered to the window, clutching the sill in terror.

Abbas stood in one of the towers and in his hand, was the Piece of Eden.

"No, not again," she begged. "No more!"

Then, the light pulsed and spread and she ducked, cowering against the wall with her eyes shut and her hands over her ears. She felt it pass over her, felt the pain stab through her mind again and failed to realize in her terror, that it wasn't as intense as before.

"Malik!" his name came out as a cry and whimper, a desperate, terrified need and a pleading prayer that he would be safe.

* * *

The light faded and suddenly, the pain vanished. Malik sat back on his heels with a gasp as the earth tilted beneath him. He swayed drunkenly and wiped the blood from his face. He looked up, squinting painfully and saw Altair in the tower where Abbas had been and in the light of the setting sun, he saw a glint of gold in the Assassin's hand.

His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath. "Thank you, Brother," he said as relief flooded him. "Thank you."

When he finally made it back to the fortress, he felt as though he would fall asleep on his feet and he had reached the door to his room before he realized he had forgotten to find a change of clothes for Aliyah. He huffed a sigh and pushed the door open.

Aliyah sat cowering beneath the window with her hands over her ears and her eyes shut tight, sobbing like a child.

He rushed to her, his exhaustion forgotten, sliding on his knees on the stone floor. "Aliyah!" he called her name frantically, petting her head. "Look at me! Look at me, Love!"

She shook her head fiercely.

 _No! No, if I do not see them, then they will not be real!_

"Aliyah," he softened his voice. "Open your eyes, my star," he coaxed, stroking her cheek. "Open your eyes. It is me, my love."

She only whimpered, a keening sound that broke his heart. Hurriedly, he shrugged out of his black robe and wrapped it around her, holding her tight to his chest. He said nothing, having no words to calm her terror. He had not seen her so broken since the death of Ra'id…

Horror filled him.

 _What happened in the fortress?_

"Sshh," he murmured, kissing her hair. "I am here, my star. You are safe. You are safe, I swear it."

Finally, after long minutes, her trembling eased and her sobs began to quiet.

"Malik," her voice was painfully choked. "They were there. In the garden. Saamir, Pierre…Ra'id…and I—I almost couldn't…"

Malik looked at her in a mixture of confusion and alarm and pressed his hand to her cheek, checking for a fever.

"And Al-Mualim," she went on, "he had the Piece of Eden and suddenly he became eight men…and then _they_ were there…"

He tightened his hold on her, shushing her gently as a new horror took hold of him. The pain he had felt when the orb's light had passed over him had been indescribable, reaching down to his very soul. What else was that cursed orb capable of?

 _They call it the Apple_ , Caleb had told him during one of their brief rests on the way to Masyaf. _They say it has the power to control the minds of men and create powerful illusions._

"They were phantoms, my star," he soothed. "Nothing more. They cannot harm you."

"But they did!" she wept, burying her face in his chest.

He froze, startled.

 _Her leg…_

He had thought that her injury came from fighting their enthralled Brothers, not from apparitions.

"They cannot harm you now," he promised, pushing her hood back so he could stroke her hair. He gently worked his fingers through her raven tresses, uncoiling her braid and combing it until it cascaded down her back. He pressed his lips to her temple. "Forgive me," he pled.

She held him tighter, as though afraid he would disappear like an illusion from the Apple.

"Come," he said and led her to the bedside, deciding that his robe would suffice once more until he could find some other clothes for her. He settled her into bed, pulling the blanket up to her chin and sat by her, running his fingers through her hair until her breathing had deepened into the even rhythm of sleep.

A gentle knock sounded on the door.

"Yes?" Malik called gruffly, watching Aliyah to make sure she hadn't been disturbed.

Ibrahim appeared in the doorway, his expression drawn with pain. "Forgive me, Dai," he said quietly. "It is Dabir. He is asking for you."

Malik's heart fell even farther and he sighed as he stood. "Stay with her," he said.

As he walked out of the room, Ibrahim opened the door completely and stood in full view of the hall. She had been attacked too many times, he would not allow anything to spark that animosity again.

Malik made his way to the hall where the wounded were being cared for. As he walked between the rows of pallets, his stomach turned with grief. He tried to remind himself that their losses could have been far greater but the thought gave him no comfort. Each loss was a Brother, a friend, and none had deserved to die in such a manner.

Dabir lay toward the far end of the room, off by himself. Malik found this curious, until he realized that there were three pallets missing in the row. His informant lay there, quiet except for his rapid, pained breathing. His clothing was soaked with fever sweat and water from the physician's attempts to cool him, if only to provide him some comfort.

"Dabir," Malik called his name softly as he sat next to the pallet.

Dabir opened his eyes and relief filled his drawn, pale face. "Dai," his voice was terribly weak but he greeted Malik warmly, as though they were in the Bureau in Jerusalem, as though he wasn't dying. "How many of us survived?"

"Aliyah, Ibrahim, Khadim, Askari, Sabir and Caleb," Malik replied.

Dabir nodded sadly, grieving the loss of his Brothers. "Al-Mualim?"

"Dead," Malik told him with bitter satisfaction.

"I suppose we will never know why he—" Dabir broke off as a violent coughing fit seized him. Malik raised his head so he could breathe easier and blood flecked his lips.

"Tell me what you need, Brother," Malik said quietly, tucking the blanket around the shivering man.

Dabir shook his head, an oddly amused look on his face. "Malik," he began hoarsely, "I want you to know…how honored I am that I served under your command. You are…one of the greatest…of us." Pride shone from his glassy eyes as he spoke.

"I am honored to have known and fought with you, Brother," Malik told him, fighting to keep his voice steady.

Dabir fell silent for a moment, concentrating on breathing. "Malik," he said, his voice even raspier, "would you think me a coward…if I asked you to stay…a moment longer?"

"No, Dabir," Malik assured him, gripping his hand. "You are no coward."

"I don't…have long," Dabir tried to explain and his fear was obvious. "I'd…rather not…be alone…"

"I won't leave you," Malik promised.

Dabir suddenly gave a breathy laugh that brought more blood, which Malik wiped away. "I wish…I could have lived to see…your sons, Malik," he said with a wistful smile. "The men they'd…grow to be. With you as their…father and…Aliyah as their mother…they will have no choice but…to be…great…"

His words pierced Malik to his core. Aliyah could not bear children, they would have no sons, but he couldn't bring himself to tell Dabir that.

The Assassin suddenly closed his eyes as pain wracked his body. He groaned faintly and Malik tightened his grip on Dabir's hand. Dabir calmed under the pressure and nodded his gratitude. Then, his chest fell once more and his head sagged to one side.

Malik fought the pressure growing in his chest as he pulled the blanket over Dabir's face, but couldn't keep the tears from sliding down his cheeks. He rose stiffly and made his way between the pallets, lacking the strength to remain and watch Dabir be taken from the room. He walked to his chamber, keeping his hand on the wall of the corridor to steady himself.

 _All for a madman's lust for power._

A deep, bitter anger filled him but this time, there would be no retribution, no justice, only graves filled with the bodies of his Brothers.

Light spilled into the corridor from an open room and he realized, belatedly, that it was his. Then, he saw Ibrahim silhouetted in the warm glow, only standing halfway in the room. Something about the sight eased part of the ache in Malik. Ibrahim was protecting Aliyah in every possible way.

"Thank you, Ibrahim," Malik said, his voice strained with grief. "Go rest. I imagine there will be a great deal of work to do tomorrow."

The young Assassin turned, nodded and walked away and Malik could tell by his stiff posture that he was in pain, as well. He stepped inside and closed the door, sighing with relief at being able to shut that much of the world out, at least. He checked the shallow cut on his side and dabbed the blood that had seeped out away. He looked at his sleeping wife and his relief was as overwhelming as his sorrow. Aliyah was alive and healing. He concentrated on that. He went to douse the lamp, but hesitated, looking down at her. In the warm glow of the light, she looked too pure, innocent and beautiful to have come from this wretched world. He bent to press a kiss on her cheek, then, when she didn't stir, he pressed a tender one to her lips. Her hand shifted beneath the blanket, reaching for him even in her sleep.

He snuffed out the light and climbed into bed beside her as gingerly as he could, not wishing to disturb her. Then, in the dark, cool night, his thoughts began to torment him until his grief swelled within his chest and silent tears spilled from his eyes.

Suddenly, Aliyah shifted and wrapped a warm, slender arm across his chest in a gentle embrace meant to hold him together. He turned into it, pulling her close and when kissed her cheek, he tasted the salt of her tears.

"Malik, Beloved, you don't have to grieve alone," she whispered in the dark and in those words, he heard so much.

Al-Mualim's betrayal had been the deepest wound he had ever received. Everything he was, everything he _had been_ , had centered on his Mentor. Al-Mualim had given him a home, made him an Assassin, had counseled him, given him a father's comfort after Kadar's death, given him a purpose when he was no longer fit to be an Assassin. And yet, all along, Al-Mualim had been responsible for everything that had torn him apart until there was barely anything left of the man he had been. Not a mistake, not an act of desperation, a deliberate act.

His breath caught painfully and he sagged against her. She shifted onto her back and pulled him to her shoulder, stroking her fingers through his hair and let him weep for his loss. And in the dark, she wept with him.

"I don't know what to do," he whispered brokenly.

"For now," she began gently, rubbing his back tenderly, "rest. And we will decide what to do tomorrow after the sun rises. And then, the next day, after the sun rises, we will decide what to do. And for every day after that, for as long as we must."

He said nothing, but she felt him relax just slightly. His breathing was still ragged and she felt his tears falling. Eventually, as the moon rose higher, his breaths came easier, his tears dried and the painful tension left his body as sleep claimed him. She lay awake for a while longer, still stroking his hair, just listening to him breathe and praying his sleep would be peaceful. Then, clutching him tenderly, she too allowed sleep to take her and when the sun rose, it found them just that way.

* * *

I have tissues...


	34. Chapter 34

A/N: Hihihi! What about this? It's the next chapter and it hasn't been weeks in between! I'm not sure how to behave lol Still dealing with some aftermath but things are moving along. Not gonna say much else, 'cause that would defeat the purpose of 'posting-to-be-read' :)

Shoutouts to: 1Corinthians 1313, MagicInTheStars and AliceTheCactus! Thanks so much for reviewing! So many tissues were used in the writing of that chapter. Hopefully, this one gives us a break.

Enjoy!

* * *

Malik made his way to Hashima's home in the early morning light and arrived as the dawn painted the mountains with rose and golden hues. Aliyah needed new clothing and he didn't know who else to go to for them at such an hour. The market was silent but he had seen the smoke coming from the woman's chimney from his window.

He knocked gently on the door and waited nervously. If he accomplished nothing else today, he would provide his wife with clothes.

Within moments, the door opened and Hashima's lined face immediately broke into a smile at the sight of him. She spread her arms and he walked into her motherly embrace.

"It is good to see you, Malik," she told him warmly. "Have you eaten? Come in. I'll give you breakfast."

"I would love that, Hashima," he began apologetically. "But I fear I cannot stay."

"Oh? Well, surely you can spare a moment to give an old woman some news," she said. "I've not seen you since Al-Mualim sent you to Jerusalem. Nor Aliyah since she followed you. How is she?"

"She is—"

"Do not lie to me, Malik," she scolded. "My ears haven't failed me yet. I heard the battle on the slopes yesterday. Now tell me, is she well?"

"She was injured," he confessed. "But she is healing." He frowned suddenly. "What made you believe that she was a part of the conflict?"

She gave him smile that was both knowing and nostalgic. "She would never have left your side." Then, when Malik dropped his gaze to his shoes, she narrowed her eyes shrewdly. "What aren't you telling me, Malik?"

"What do you mean?" he asked but his eyes were too wide, too innocent to be guileless.

"She found you, didn't she?" Hashima asked.

Malik felt his throat tighten. "Yes, she did," he answered. Yes, she had found him, and led him back from the darkness that had claimed his existence. "I married her."

Hashima smiled at him fondly. "Good," she said simply. "What did you need from me?"

"Her robes were ruined in the fighting and she has no other clothing," he said. "I was hoping…perhaps…"

She nodded and moved toward the back of the house. "I'm sure I have something." She returned a moment later with a set of white robes and a pair of shoes. "Here, these should do. If you need anything else, you only have to ask."

"Thank you," he said, his voice husky with gratitude.

"Before you leave," she said and moved to her little stove. She wrapped a warm loaf of bread in a cloth, put it in a basket and hung it on his arm. She cupped his cheek with warm hands. "You are strong, Malik. You will heal from this, but you must give it time."

He nodded, feeling a burning pressure behind his eyes. "Thank you, for everything."

 _Thank you for caring for us like sons. Thank you for helping Aliyah when anyone else would have cast her out. Thank you for the meals you shared with me and the kindness you've never withheld._

"She always loved you," Hashima told him gently.

 _Even in my blackest days, when all I knew was wrath and grief._

"And I her," he answered huskily. "I simply had to remember."

"I know you will take care of her," Hashima said. "But make sure you allow her to care for you, as well."

"She's never really given me a choice," he replied with a breathy chuckle.

Hashima nodded as though she had expected nothing less. "Good," she saw him to the door. "Don't forget about me."

He turned a fond smile on her. "Never," he promised and made his way back to the fortress.

Aliyah was still sleeping when he slipped into the room, her hair fanned out on the pillow, her arm draped across her chest from where she had held him. He set the basket down on the little table, set the shoes on the floor and laid the clothes at the foot of the bed. Then, he knelt beside her, stroking her cheek and pressed a kiss to her temple.

She shifted and drew in a deep, languid breath. "Malik," she murmured sleepily and twined her fingers in his robe, "come back to bed, Beloved."

"Good morning, my star," he said softly. "We have a beautiful sunrise today."

She blinked her eyes open at that and the look of pure adoration in her gaze stole his breath. She pulled him down and pressed her lips to his, smiling when he prolonged the kiss, stroking his fingers through her hair.

"It would be a shame to miss it," she said and sat up, swinging her legs off the bed.

The sight of her in his robe made him regret getting her other clothes. She stood and gasped in pain as her leg gave way. Malik instantly wrapped his arm around her, gripping her elbow to hold her up.

"I'm alright," she assured him. "I just forgot."

"It does not pain you, then?" he asked hopefully.

"Well, it didn't," she laughed and let him guide her to a chair by the window.

"Hashima gave us breakfast," he announced, holding up the bread.

She gave him a bemused look and tucked the robe tighter around her. "You went to Hashima for breakfast?"

"Ah, no, actually," he said. "I went because I thought she might help me find some other clothes for you. And, well, you know her as well as I do," he gestured to the clothes on the bed.

"Malik, thank you," she said softly when she saw them.

He broke the bread for them and they watched the sun climb into the sky, turning the land below them into a burnished gold as it ascended. When they had finished eating, they sat there, still and quiet, looking out over the village, still shrouded in the morning mist. He took her hand and for a moment, everything was right in the world.

"I should change," she said quietly after the village started coming to life slowly.

"I almost wish you wouldn't," he told her as he helped her stand, a mischievous light in his eyes. "I find you rather fetching in that robe."

Her eyes widened in surprise and she felt her cheeks warming with a blush and she realized this was some small revenge of his for her behavior on their wedding morning.

"That is quite the saucy statement, my love," she told him with a grin. "Is the sort of behavior I can expect from you in the future?"

He propped his forehead against hers. "It most certainly is," he told her and kissed her forehead.

She laughed and he smiled at the shy flush in her cheeks. He walked her to the bed and respectfully turned his back. After a moment, she touched his shoulder and he turned to see her tucking her hair beneath the scarf.

He opened his mouth to speak and the dull roar of raised voices made him pause.

"I'd better see what is happening," he said grimly.

She nodded. "Go," she said, pushing him toward the door.

As he hurried down the corridor, the words became clearer, as did the anger and fear that filled them.

"And why should you lead us?"

"What gives you the right?"

"You are the one who killed Al-Mualim!"

"You brought shame to the Brotherhood!"

"Why should we trust you?"

Altair stood before the Assassins of Masyaf, silently absorbing their questions and accusations.

"Brothers," he said once the clamor had quieted. "I have no right to lead us and I do not want you to trust me blindly. That is how this tragedy came to pass."

"You betrayed us!"

With that, the shouting began anew.

"Brothers!" Malik's voice rang out, silencing the room. "Do you no longer have a sense of respect? Of order? You have reduced yourselves to children throwing stones!" He strode forward to stand by Altair. "If you will not hear him, then hear me," he insisted in an authoritative tone. "Who among us has lived a life devoid of mistakes? Is there one here, who has not suffered the hardship of correction? Is not the failing of one, the failing of all?"

A murmur swept the room as the men shuffled uncomfortably.

"Who would you prefer to succeed as Mentor?" Malik asked.

No one answered.

"Al-Mualim betrayed us," he went on. "I feel this pain as acutely as the rest of you but we must not be led by fear. It was Altair who liberated us from the control of the Apple. Twice! When Al-Mualim forced us to turn our blades on each other and when Abbas, in his fear, tried to wrest control of it and it began stealing the very breath from his body, from all of us! It was Altair who reclaimed it and locked it away where it could do no more harm."

"How can you vouch for this man, Malik?" one man called from the crowd. "Kadar is dead, you lost your arm, all because of his pride."

Malik shook his head. "Al-Mualim's schemes cost my brother his life. His betrayal began long ago," he said sadly. "Did Altair break the Creed? Yes. Has he atoned for his mistake? Yes. Ten times over. For that, I proudly call him my brother. For saving the Brotherhood from certain destruction, regardless of the price he was required to pay? For that, I would proudly call him my Mentor."

"You would put your trust in him, Malik?" another, a white-bearded old warrior asked cautiously.

"Yes," Malik replied without hesitation. "I trust him with my life and with everything precious to me."

"Then you are a fool," Abbas growled.

"I will not _seize_ the mantle of Mentor," Altair announced. "If there is another better suited to bear that responsibility, I will not contest it. But Abbas, you touched it. You know what it can do. Would you truly want to risk a Brother to that fate?"

Abbas seemed to pale slightly at the memory of the Apple leaching the life from his body. "No," he said in a low voice.

"I did not desire this," Altair told the assembly. "For all of my ambition, I _never_ sought this. But I ask that you trust me and for those of you who do not, I ask that you grant me the opportunity to earn your trust."

A murmur of assent moved through the gathering and the old man stepped forward.

"Then, we shall trust you," he spoke for all assembled, "Mentor."

* * *

Malik stood behind Al-Mualim's desk looking down into the garden, his gaze frozen on the spot where the old man had died.

"Thank you, Malik," Altair said quietly. "Were it not for you, Masyaf would be in chaos."

Malik huffed a bitter chuckle and turned to face him. "Masyaf _is_ in chaos," he said. "We are all afraid, searching the shadows for enemies, looking for a reason to distrust one another. Richard and Salah al-Din may not come to destroy us, but it may not matter."

"How is Aliyah?" Altair asked, the late afternoon sun cast Malik in silhouette, making it easy to see the tired slump of his shoulders.

"She is healing," Malik replied with relief, then his brow furrowed with concern. "Altair, the Apple."

"I have it locked away," Altair assured him and drew his attention to a small, iron chest. "It is safe"

"It needs to be done away with," Malik told him, his voice low with urgency. "Destroyed. It is too dangerous to exist any longer."

Altair didn't meet his earnest gaze. "I cannot, Malik," he said quietly. "I had intended to. When I had finished with Al-Mualim, my next goal was to crush this abominable orb."

"Then do it now!" Malik urged. "I will help you!"

"No," Altair replied, a note of finality in his voice.

Malik nearly reeled back from him. "Has it bewitched you, as well?"

"No, Malik, I do not believe so," Altair told him. "I have felt its pull on my mind before, when Al-Mualim used it against me, but it could only restrain me. It could not command me."

Malik took a half-step back. "You…cannot believe that you are its master," he said with growing horror.

Altair gave a wry chuckle. "No. I did try to destroy it, Malik," he said, drawing his sword and revealing the deep notch in its edge. "Nothing I did could harm it. In the wrong hands, it is a weapon of the deadliest kind. But it holds knowledge, as well, knowledge that I believe our enemies possess while we do not. If I am to protect the Brotherhood, I must know our enemy better and this orb will grant me that."

"You would keep it," Malik began slowly, "for the knowledge it may contain? Only for the knowledge?"

"Yes," Altair assured him.

Malik stared at him, his expression nearly heartbroken. "I can easily believe that Al-Mualim's intentions were such, in the beginning."

Altair looked at him sharply. "I cannot," he replied. "He knew too much to seek knowledge."

"Perhaps," Malik replied grimly. "But, does that not make it worse? That the meager knowledge he _did_ possess was enough to corrupt him fully?"

"He was always a sly man," Altair said. "It was one thing that made him such an effective Mentor…and a skill we are all taught to hone. I have had my fill of secrets and that is all the Apple holds. So long as they remain secret, we are in danger, both from the Apple and the Templars."

"And should it turn you against us as it did Al-Mualim?" Malik allowed his fear to tint his words.

"It won't," Altair answered. "Al-Mualim did not have _you_ at his side."

Malik's eyes sharpened with surprise. "What?"

"I want you to stay in Masyaf," Altair told him. "I will need your help, just as I did today, if the Brotherhood is to be rebuilt."

"Is this an order?" Malik asked.

"It is a request," Altair replied.

"Who will replace me in Jerusalem?" Malik asked, both surprise and dismayed.

"That, I will leave up to you," Altair said. "I ask you, will you stay and lend me your help?"

Malik hesitated, considering the request for a moment. Who could he trust to replace him in Jerusalem's Bureau? In the city, Aliyah had the respect of the other Assassins. In Masyaf, he had no way of knowing how many still viewed her with contempt and loathing. If he stayed, she would stay with him, but would she be safe?

"Will you grant me some time to consider this?" he asked.

"Of course, Malik," Altair said warmly. "Above all else, you are my friend."

Malik nodded his gratitude and left the library. He made his way back to his chamber, his thoughts whirling in his head as he opened the door. When he stepped inside, everything in his mind fell silent.

Aliyah sat by the window, humming softly as she sewed the gashes in her robes in the lingering daylight. He drank in the sight of her, the warm light tinting the edges of her robes with gold, the content look on her beautiful face. She looked so innocent, seemingly untouched by the cruelty of the world and yet, there was a strength in her steady hands, in the tilt of her head that only came from surviving that cruelty.

"You are absolutely beautiful, my star," he whispered.

She stopped humming and glanced up, startled. "I didn't hear you come in," she said. "I mended yours first, there were quite a few rips, actually…" she trailed off when she realized he hadn't moved. He simply stood there, staring at her, an unfathomable expression on his face. "Malik," she ducked her head in embarrassment. "Stop…please."

"I never told you," he began in a hoarse voice, "I don't know that I would ever be able to tell you…how much I love you."

She looked up again and froze at the sight of the tears shimmering in his eyes.

"I am your husband," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "It is my duty to take care of you and yet, from the first day you came into my life, that is what you have done for me. You saved my brother. You saved _me_."

She set her sewing aside, alarmed and perplexed as to what he meant exactly.

"When I lost my arm to the physician's knives," he went on, "when the fever burned through me…I wanted to die. It was too much…after everything else."

Her mouth fell open in shock and grief pierced her through at the memory of him in so much pain, the realization of how lost he'd felt.

"Then, I heard your voice," he said, swallowing to steady his voice. "One part of me wanted you to be there beside me. The other knew it was a fever dream."

"You heard me?" she asked in a near whisper.

His eyes widened in disbelief. "You _were_ there?"

She nodded. "Yes, I was there," she said, slowly getting to her feet. "I wanted to stay, I wanted to be there when you awoke, but Al-Mualim sent me to Jerusalem. That—that's when…"

He approached her slowly, a wondering look in his eyes. "You were there," he said again, cupping her cheek as though to reassure himself that she was there now.

She nodded. "I never would have left if I'd been given the choice," she told him softly.

"You've seen me at my worst, at my weakest," he said, his throat constricting painfully. "And yet, you loved me. You accepted me as your husband and _trusted_ me. Trusted me to provide for you…to _protect_ you." He gazed down at her, his expression a mixture of marvel and anguish. "There is nothing I could ever do, that would make me worthy of what you've given me."

"Only love me, Malik," she said with a soft smile. "Your love is all I want."

"That you have," he promised. "That you will always have."

He pressed tender kisses on her lips, as though he was giving her a piece of his soul with each one. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close and his kisses gradually became more insistent. He tugged her scarf off the back of her head and buried his fingers in her hair. She melted into him and he felt again, the love, trust and acceptance that she had so unequivocally given to him.

* * *

"He wants me to stay in Masyaf," Malik told her.

She lay cuddled against his side, soaking in his warmth as a defense against the cool, night air, their hands clasped against his chest.

"Altair?" she queried.

"Mm-hm," he answered. "As of this afternoon, he is Mentor. He believes that I can help him rebuild the Brotherhood, repair the damage Al-Mualim has caused."

"Well, he isn't wrong," she told him.

"What good could I possibly do here?" he asked and she felt a twinge of pain at the tone of his voice. He believed he was broken and without use or purpose, yet again.

She was suddenly angry and raised up on one elbow to look at him. "Tell me," she began, "do you measure your worth according to the wife who loves and the friend who trusts you? Or according to a dead, old man who betrayed you?"

The steel in her voice surprised him, and the look he gave her was almost pleading in its vulnerability.

She kissed the corner of his mouth to soothe away his sudden anxiety, to reassure him that she was the last person who would ever cause him pain.

"We know what you are worth," she told him. "If you cannot see it for yourself yet, then take us at our word until you can."

He opened his mouth and she pressed a finger to his lips before he could argue.

"The Assassins trust you," she told him. "More than they trust Altair, at this moment. Too many of them will still be angry with him for breaking the Creed and now, he has killed Al-Mualim. Even though his reason was just, it will always be a bitter thought for them. You are a leader and they know you are safe to follow. If they see you at Altair's side, it will become that much easier for them to trust him again."

He considered that and remembered that it was only after he had professed his support for Altair to assume the position as Mentor that the others had accepted. While it had been what he wanted, this was certainly not the outcome he had planned.

"Malik," she said his name and there was an amused smile on her face, "did you truly believe that after all of this, we would be able to return to Jerusalem quietly? We helped him storm Masyaf, ensured that he would reach Al-Mualim, knowing what his success would mean. We brought this to pass as much as he did."

"There is something else," he confessed worriedly.

A sick fear entered her eyes. "He didn't destroy the Apple, did he?"

"He tried," Malik told her. "It defied his efforts. But now…He believes it holds knowledge and he fears that our enemies already possess a great deal of it. If we are to defeat them, then we must learn, as well, and learn quickly. What good will it do to guard an unknown danger? It would be the same as failing to warn a child that fire burns."

"You agree with him, then?" she asked, a fearful tremor in her voice.

"No," he replied with a sigh. "But I understand." He paused, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb in a comforting circle. "I wonder, if we had known that it had the power to create such phantoms, if I could have protected you better."

She shuddered at the memory and he shifted onto his side, pulling her back against his chest and wrapping his arm tightly around her.

"In this, I have chosen to trust him," he said quietly. "Will you?"

"No," she answered simply. "But I trust you."

He could feel the fearful tension in her back and he pressed a kiss behind her ear, holding her still until he felt her relax.

"This would be the other reason he wants you to stay," she said after a long moment of silence.

"Hm?" Malik grunted, surprised to find that he had dozed off. "Why would this be?"

"He is afraid of it," she said. "Afraid of what it can do, the corruption it holds. He needs you. You have always been vocal in your opinions, steadfast in your convictions, a voice of reason. If the Apple tries to lure him away, you may be the only one who could draw him back."

Malik made a derisive sound. "He's rarely ever appreciated my 'voice of reason'."

She laughed sleepily. "Reason shatters delusions, Malik," she told him sagely. "There are very few who actually appreciate it."

"And you?" he asked as she snuggled farther under the blanket, pressing against his chest. "Do you appreciate it?"

"Your voice? Or your reason?" she asked, her words slightly slurred as sleep crept over her.

He chuckled and kissed her shoulder. "Go to sleep, my love," he said softly, grateful that she faced away from him so that she couldn't see the color rising into his cheeks.

"Mmm…I hardly know what I would do without them," she sighed happily.

Her breathing deepened quickly after that and he made himself relax, breathing in the cool air in a deep sigh. A few minutes later, when sleep claimed him, as well, his face was still bashfully warm.


	35. Chapter 35

A/N: Hiya! Here I am! I learned something valuable in these past few weeks. There is a big difference between having writer's block and having your muse abandon you. When you have writer's block, you can feel the muse trying to claw its way free and onto your page. When the muse abandons you, it literally does just that. It looks back and waves with a big fat Cheshire Cat grin and skips away, leaving you in the cold and the rain and staring at empty pages. Well, lucky for me, it finally came back!

Shoutouts to: MagicInTheStars, 1Corinthians 1313 and Sheena Kushiashi! Thank you so much for the reviews! They made my day and made me hate my muse even more fiercely for running away lol

Sheena Kushiashi, I'm so glad you found me and I hope you continue to enjoy the read!

MagicInTheStars and 1Corinthians 1313, I'm happy you liked the cuteness! We needed some fluff after all of that, didn't we?

Enjoy!

* * *

Samuel ran down the streets and alleys of Acre, his chest was burning and sweat was running into his eyes. He'd always been fast, he had to be to keep up with Pierre's hunting dogs back home, and Saadiq had been training him over the last month or so to increase his endurance. The Assassin would follow him on the rooftops and throw rocks at him whenever he came within range.

However, Saadiq wasn't chasing him this time.

The jingle of chainmail followed him like a specter and no matter where he went, he always heard it around the next corner. His chest tightened with panic as he found his every escape cut off by either thick crowds or Templar soldiers. A man drove a hay cart through the intersection just ahead of him and he slid underneath it, leaping to his feet on the other side to keep running.

Hoofbeats thundered up the street on his left and he slammed his palms into another cart to propel himself away from the warhorse. He'd barely taken a step when the rider threw himself from the horse and the crushing weight of the armor pinned Samuel to the ground. The knight drove his gauntleted fist into Samuel's face, splitting his cheekbone and breaking his nose. Then, he dragged Samuel upright and pinned him against the post of a vendor's stall. The crowd cleared with screams of terror, leaving Samuel alone with his attacker. He twisted desperately, trying to break the knight's grip and the knights drove his fist in Samuel's stomach. Samuel's body caved under the force of the blow and he nearly vomited. The knight slammed him back against the post and pressed his forearm against his throat, cutting off his air. Samuel struggled against his weight, tears streaming from his eyes as he tried to breathe. Suddenly, two more knights appeared and gripped his arms, bending them back around the rough wood. Samuel groaned in pain and winced as one of them gripped his hair, forcing his head back against the post and tearing the gash on his cheek even farther. His first attacker slammed a fist into his stomach again and he tasted bile. Then, the knight drew his sword and stepped to one side, preparing to swing the blade at Samuel's throat.

"Don't kill him!" a woman ordered sharply and the knight lowered his weapon.

Samuel let out a raspy sigh, the grip on his hair vanished and his head fell forward, blood dripping from his mouth. Fingers gripped his face, nails digging into his cheeks, and dragged his head up. He met Maria's cold, furious gaze and a thrill of fear shuddered through him.

"Where are they?" she demanded.

He clenched his teeth, his eyes hardening in refusal. The knight stepped forward, drawing back his fist but Maria waved him back.

"You tried to kill Pierre," she said, almost conversationally. "I can understand that. The man was a pig. When we failed to apprehend you, we believed that the Assassins had captured you. _Captured_." She leaned closer, her fingernails cutting into his skin. "Robert wanted you hunted down. He was even willing to negotiate for your release just so he could execute you. I persuaded him that you were still loyal to the Order, despite your treacherous behavior toward Pierre. Or that you could still be of use, at least."

She released him, only to punch him viciously, causing him to spit more blood.

"Then, they killed Robert," she hissed and her eyes shimmered with furious tears. "And here you are, wearing their clothes, carrying their weapons. This, I will not abide!"

She nodded to one of the knights holding him. The man shifted his grip on Samuel's arm and gave it a sharp twist. Samuel screamed as his elbow snapped loudly.

She gripped his hair in a fist. "Where are the Assassins of Acre?" she demanded. "Tell me now, and I promise to end your life quickly."

He stared back at her in silence, his eyes filled with pain and determination. In the distance, he spied the dark shape of a lone bird on the edge of his vision. Though he couldn't actually see it, he wanted to think that it was the messenger pigeon he had sent to Masyaf.

She shook her head. "Such loyalty," she said admiringly. "A shame it's so misplaced." She nodded curtly to the three knights. "Get me answers. He does not get to die until I have them."

* * *

Malik strode down the corridor with a short staff in his hand. Aliyah followed him, holding a platter of meat and bread and a pitcher of water. Without knocking, Malik shoved the doors of Altair's study open and strode inside, his face set in a determined scowl.

"Altair!" he called his name sharply and when he friend didn't acknowledge his presence, he strode to the desk and thrust his staff at the Apple, knocking it out of Altair's grip.

Altair snatched his head up, startled, and he caught the orb before it hit the floor. Before he could utter a word of reproach, Aliyah set the platter and pitcher in front of him. He glared at Malik but the Dai was unmoved.

"Three days," Malik informed him. "For three days, you've been shut away in here with that orb. Do you want our Brothers to trust you, or not?"

Altair's eyes narrowed. "Three days?" he repeated in disbelief. "I only…just sat down."

Malik's expression softened into one of concern. "Yes, Altair. It's been three days. I wish you would destroy that accursed thing and be done with it. We all do."

"I cannot, Malik," Altair told him for what felt like the thousandth time.

Malik sighed. "I know. But I've begun to wonder if that is actually your decision. Eat."

Altair looked up at him sharply. "Of course, it is my decision!"

"Eat," Malik barked.

Altair scowled, then was forced to acknowledge his growling stomach and began eating. He felt life flood back into his body when the spices of the meat hit his tongue and he forced himself to eat slowly.

"Three days," he mused, casting a careless glance around his desk and seeing the once tall candlesticks melted to stumps.

"What is this?" Aliyah asked curiously, picking up a stack of papers. She held one up for the men to see.

Altair swallowed his bite of bread. "We were working on modifications for our hidden blades," he explained.

"Oh?" she said, looking at the diagram once more.

"I fail to see the purpose of removing a finger to accommodate the blade," Altair said. "Our duty is to the people, not to custom and…I remember how it felt, losing my finger that day. The sense of purpose it gave me. Now, after everything that has happened, it only seems to be a false promise of paradise."

She frowned slightly. "I understand," she said softly, flexing her hand and feeling the pain of Al-Mualim's betrayal even more acutely.

Malik gave her a look of gentle concern. "We have also reconsidered the use of poisons," he said. "Used properly, it would reduce the risk for both Assassins and innocents."

"Poison," she said the word with a shudder. "Whose blade will you use to test the changes you want to make?"

"Malik has provided his," Altair replied, taking a drink of water.

She gave Malik a proud smile and he replied with a small shrug.

Altair stood with a groan, rubbing the stiff muscles in his back and stepping gingerly as his feet burned with the sudden blood flow.

"I should have come sooner," Malik said grimly.

"You were busy with more important matters," Altair told him. "You are my friend, Malik, and my right hand, not my nursemaid."

"It would appear you need one those, as well," Malik remarked dryly.

"As long as it isn't Akilah, I would not object," Altair said with a faint chuckle.

"Actually, I would think that Akilah would be the best for such work," Aliyah commented.

Both men looked at her with something akin to horror.

"Surely…you jest?" Malik said hopefully. Then, when she shook her head, he and Altair exchanged concerned looks.

"She made sure _I_ was fed during my early days as a Novice," she said.

Malik grimaced painfully.

"Malik al-Sayf," Aliyah said sharply and his gaze snapped up in surprise. "As your wife, I _forbid_ you to assume responsibility for _anything_ that happened during that time."

He blinked at her, too stunned to speak, and nodded.

Altair laughed. "I wonder if I were to take that tone with you, if you would be more likely to do what _I_ say."

Malik cast a sidelong glance at him, his eyes glinting dangerously. "If you value your life, I wouldn't recommend it." Then, his gaze went to the window as a bird landed on the bar, a tiny piece of paper tied to its leg. "Altair," he called the Mentor's attention to it.

"What does it say?" Altair asked as Malik unrolled the paper.

Malik drew back in surprise. "The Templars have gathered in Acre," he reported. "All of them, including their new leader, Armand Bouchart. Ships are coming to the port."

Altair clenched his jaw. "Reinforcements?"

"I don't know," Malik said, his voice low with worry. "I don't recognize this handwriting, either. This may all be a lie. If the Templars have taken the Bureau in Acre, this could be an attempt to lure us into a trap."

"Let me see," Altair came over and took the paper, his lips pursed into a thin, anxious line. Then, his shoulders sagged in relief. "Samuel wrote this."

Malik looked at him darkly, not reassured in the least. "Pierre's squire? And you trust him?"

"I do," Altair replied and burned the paper in the lingering flame of a candle. "If for no other reason that there is nothing he could do to win back the Templar's trust. They would take days to kill him and he knows this."

Malik snorted, not bothering to hide his contempt.

"I'm not asking that you trust him, Malik," Altair said. "I'm asking that you trust me."

"I do," Malik assured him.

Altair nodded. "I must leave for Acre," he said, strapping on his weapons. "This may be our only chance to stamp out the Templars, once and for all. I leave Masyaf in your hands."

Malik's eyes widened in surprise. "You do me an honor, Altair. I hope I am worthy of it." Then, as Altair reached the door, he added in an authoritative tone. "Take some of our Brothers with you. You don't know what you will find when you arrive."

Altair paused long enough to give him a wry look over his shoulder. "Send word to Khadim in Jerusalem," he instructed. "If the Bureau in Acre is compromised, they will need a place to hide. If comes to it, they can shelter in the ruins underneath the city."

Malik nodded and Altair's long stride echoed down the hall and not even half an hour had passed before a dozen horses rode out from the fortress.

SJ

Saadiq slammed his hidden blade into the soldier's throat with a frustrated snarl. Samuel had been missing for three days and every moment that he wasn't found increased the chances of them finding his body floating in the port.

"Saadiq!" Waseem called, dropping to the street.

Saadiq looked up at him sharply. "What is it?"

"I have something," Waseem said, breathless from his run. "Mohomet…Samuel went to Mohomet three days ago."

"Why?" Saadiq demanded in shock. Then, before Waseem could reply, he climbed to the rooftops and sprinted for the old man's home. Mohomet was their only way to communicate with the other Assassins outside of Acre if the Bureau was compromised. For that reason, they never approached him unless the situation was dire.

The soft cooing of the old man's birds greeted Saadiq as he leaped across the alley and landed on the roof. Waseem landed just behind him but Saadiq didn't wait and strode to the trapdoor. The hinges gave a painful creak as he opened it and he slid down the ladder. No sooner had his feet touched the floor, he felt a blade press into his neck and he froze.

"Mohomet."

"Ah, Saadiq," the old man's deep voice creaked like the door in his roof. "It has been some time since I've seen you." He pulled the short sword away and set it on the table.

Saadiq turned and met his blind, white gaze. "Some time, indeed," he commented dryly and the old man smiled in amusement. "I need your help."

"The boy said much the same," Mohomet replied, moving to his stove, one hand outstretched to judge the distance.

"He was here?" Saadiq demanded.

"Hm," Mohomet grunted affirmation. "Said he needed to send a message to Masyaf."

"And he came here?"

"He said the soldiers were after him," Mohomet replied, stirring a boiling pot. "That it wasn't safe for him to return to the Bureau. I almost killed him. Foolish boy. I told Waseem all of this."

"I need to hear this information from you," Saadiq told him. "What was the message? Who was after him? How did he even _find_ you?"

"I don't know how he found me," Mohomet replied, seasoning his stew. "But he knew the password. Still, it was when he said he couldn't go back to Jabal without leading the Templars to the Bureau that I decided not to slit his throat. He said the soldiers were gathering at the port, waiting on ships."

Saadiq sighed softly. "The port. That's something."

"He's missing?" Mohomet asked, lifting his head like a hound taking a scent.

"Three days," Saadiq told him.

"Are you worried that he's dead?" Mohomet asked. "Or are you worried that you'll have to kill him?"

"Both," Saadiq replied heavily. "Thank you."

The old man inclined his head deeply and Saadiq climbed the ladder to the roof again. Waseem stood on guard and pulled him through the door.

"Well?" he asked as his brother blinked in the bright light, his eyes readjusting from the dimness of Mohomet's home.

"The port," Saadiq told him and they took off at a run. As the water came into view, Saadiq slowed his pace, looking for a likely place Samuel could either be hiding, or held captive.

"What if they have him on a ship?" Waseem asked.

"Then, there is nothing we can do," Saadiq replied grimly.

A shadow passed on his right and with the tiniest gesture, Waseem faded back behind a stack of crates and he flattened himself against the wall of an adjacent building, his hidden blade hissing out of his gauntlet.

"Saadiq?"

He straightened in surprise. "Altair?" he stepped partially into the open. "What are you doing here?"

"I received Samuel's message," Altair replied. "Where is he?"

"He's been missing for three days," Saadiq told him, his mouth tightening into a frustrated, anxious line.

"Three days?" Altair repeated, his voice sharp with worry. "Where was he last seen?"

"He never returned to the Bureau. He sent that message through Mohomet," Saadiq answered.

"They found him, then," Altair said softly. "Do you have any leads?"

"Only that the soldiers are gathering at the port," Saadiq said. "If they've captured him, I imagine that will be where they keep him."

"Saadiq, there are three empty warehouses near the port," Waseem said suddenly, stepping out of hiding.

Altair nodded. "We'll start there."

* * *

Samuel screamed into his gag as the glowing iron was pressed into his side and his flesh sizzled. Tears streamed from his eyes and he desperately sucked in as much air as he could through the rough cloth. Then, the hot metal was taken away but the pain lingered, washing over him in waves of heat and ice.

"We can do this for a long time, boy," one of the knights told him. "You've got plenty of skin."

Samuel's head sagged forward onto his chest and another knight threw a bucket of water into his bloody, swollen face.

"Can't have you falling asleep, now can we?" he sneered.

Samuel managed to glare at him out of his still-open left eye, his hands clenching the arms of the chair he'd been tied to for three days. His wrists and ankles were chaffed raw and bloody by the rough ropes. His head swam with exhaustion and his throat was shredded from screaming. His entire body blazed with pain, his different injuries melding together into one unbearable throb. He almost couldn't remember what it felt like to take a full breath.

"I'll wake him up," the third knight growled from the back of the room.

Samuel heard him approach, his heavy boots thudding on the stone floor of the abandoned warehouse they had hidden in. An instant later, the knight's dagger flashed in the light and buried itself into the right arm of the chair, severing his little finger. Samuel screamed, tasting bile and blood and slammed his head back against the chair, trying to create another point of focus to escape the agony. His chest heaved with sobs and the bloody dagger pressed into his neck, lifting his head.

"You've got nine more fingers," the man told him, his eyes glinting with anticipation. "And ten toes for when we run out."

As he spoke, the other two men stripped off Samuel's boots.

"Nnph!" he shrieked through the gag and tried to plant his feet more firmly on the floor to stop them. They laughed and when he felt the cold stone beneath his feet, he instinctively curled his toes under protectively.

"Oh, that won't save you," the knight told him, still holding the half-dull dagger to his throat. He nodded to one of the other men. "We have ways of making you cooperate."

His comrade held up a heavy mallet and a handful of massive iron spikes. Samuel's eyes widened in horror and he shook his head, feeling the edge of the dagger dig into his neck with the movement.

"Nnph!" he whimpered hoarsely.

The knight leaned down to Samuel's ear while the one man swung the mallet languidly and the other took the freshly heated iron out of the fire once more.

"Where are the Assassins hiding in Acre?" he hissed. "You don't have to endure this. We _are_ merciful men."

Samuel closed his eyes against the promises of further torture. For three days he had kept his silence but the new, sharp throb in his right hand, the hot blood still dripping from the nub of his finger and the thought of enduring more of the same, he wasn't sure he could keep quiet much longer.

Suddenly, the windows of the warehouse crashed open and five Assassins burst through them. Samuel's breath caught in his chest as he recognized Saadiq, Waseem and Altair in the group. Altair flung a dagger and the knife at Samuel's throat fell away as the knight collapsed with a gurgling gasp. Saadiq and Waseem pounced on the other two Templars and the remaining Assassins prowled through the warehouse, looking for more.

Saadiq rushed to the chair and pulled the gag out of Samuel's mouth.

"Saadiq!" his voice was a harsh whisper but joyous and his eyes shimmered with relieved tears.

"Drink," Saadiq ordered gruffly, putting his water flask to Samuel's split lips. He nodded approvingly when the boy didn't try to gulp it down.

"Thank you," Samuel panted. Then, pain rushed in on the heels of his relief and he groaned, leaning forward, trying to curl away from the pain.

Saadiq untied his hands and feet and held him while he practically fell out of the chair. He dragged Samuel away from the blood and laid him on the floor, his robes stained with bloody handprints from where Samuel had gripped his clothes. With a quick, practiced glance, he took in all of the boy's injuries, the exhaustion in his face.

"Is he alive?" Altair demanded, striding over.

Saadiq nodded and gave Samuel another drink from his flask.

The boy's eyes locked on Altair. "You…got…my message?" he asked weakly.

"I did," Altair replied. "What is happening? Are more Templars coming to Acre?"

Samuel shook his head, fighting to keep his eyes open. Now that he was safe, his exhaustion was overwhelming and he wanted to sleep so badly.

"…leaving…I think," he said, then pain pulsed through him, jolting him back awake. "They have…a new leader."

Altair nodded. "Bouchart, I know. What did they want with you?"

"She wanted…to know where the Assassins were…in Acre."

"She," Altair repeated, a stone falling into his stomach. "Who is she, Samuel?" he demanded, ignoring the curious look Saadiq cast his way.

"Maria…Maria Thorpe," he answered and tried to raise up on one elbow, only to have Saadiq stop him with a firm hand on his chest. "She was…close to Robert…"

"Revenge then?" Waseem asked and the two Assassins looked at him inquiringly. "He betrayed the Templars when he killed Pierre Delacroix, then you killed Robert de Sable," he said to Altair. "Perhaps she believes he is responsible for that, as well."

"He tried to kill Pierre," Altair corrected. "And it is possible she thinks so. She seemed to be one of Robert's more adamant followers. Saadiq, as soon as he can ride, I want him sent to Masyaf."

"Yes, Mentor," Saadiq replied. "May I ask why?"

"If the Templars are leaving, as we hope, I doubt that they will all go," Altair replied. "While the boy has proven his strength, I'd rather not have him tested a second time and risk compromising the Bureau. If you are found out, I want all of you to shelter in Jerusalem. Khadim will be expecting you."

Saadiq nodded and Altair left the warehouse, heading for the docks.

"Waseem, find us a cart," Saadiq instructed. "He won't be able to walk back."

"Sa—Saadiq?" Samuel murmured as Waseem left. "I di'n…I didn't…

"I know," Saadiq quieted him gruffly. "You did well. Rest for a moment." The words had barely left his mouth when Samuel's eyes closed and his breathing steadied.

The boy had bled for them, for men who were not his brothers and Saadiq's heart ached for his suffering. He could see the burns and gashes that covered his torso, his missing finger had finally stopped bleeding and his face was swollen and covered in bruises. Then, he saw several odd lacerations on the tops of his shoulders and an instant later, he recognized them as lash marks. He shook his head angrily and poured water over Samuel's sun-kissed brown hair. The boy's skin was feverishly warm and several of his wounds were inflamed.

The clatter of a cart came from outside and Waseem strode into the warehouse. He helped Saadiq carry Samuel out and lay him on the rough wood and Saadiq covered the boy with his robe. The boy moaned softly but didn't awaken and the brothers exchanged concerned looks. They hurried back to the Bureau to tend his wounds. The sooner he was able to leave Acre, the better off he would be.

* * *

I kinda figured that Maria had a brutal side. I mean, would Robert have liked/trusted her enough to make her his decoy if she didn't?


	36. Chapter 36

A/N: Hiya! So, here we go! We're in the time where Altair was gone for about, what was it?, ten years? It was a while. I'll check the timeline again to make sure. But, during that time, Malik had free-run of the place, which means I have a lot of wiggle room :) Let's hope he can stay out of trouble. We have a lot of dialogue in this one and not much action. Hopefully, that will change soon but it all depends on whether or not they choose to shut up. This isn't a super long chapter, but hopefully it'll hold everyone until the next one...hopefully. If you show up at my door with torches and pitchforks, I'll know I was wrong.

Shoutouts to: 1Corinthians 1313 and Sheena Kushiashi! Thank you so much for reviewing!

And to everyone who has faved and followed, muah! Thank you so much, it just tickles me pink!

Enjoy!

* * *

The night was cold and the wind blew shrilly between the canyon walls, wet with the promise of rain and in the distance, thunder rumbled. Samuel hunched over until he was almost pressed against his horse's neck, clutching his robes to him in a desperate attempt to stay warm. His back was still raw from the lashing the knights had given him and he felt as though he'd been trampled by Richard's cavalry. Saadiq had told him that this path would take him to the fortress of Masyaf but he knew little else.

"I hope it isn't much farther," he muttered to his horse.

His right hand still throbbed from his missing finger and his left arm was in a sling with a tight binding on his elbow. Holding the reins was nearly impossible and though his lips were drying and cracking from thirst, he feared he would drop his flask if he tried to reach it.

Black storm clouds rolled across the sky, blotting out the stars. Then, as he rounded a bend, the lights of a village appeared in the distance and he sighed in relief. Suddenly, a heavy weight slammed into him, driving him to the ground as his horse neighed in panic. He cried out in pain as his every injury flared and a hand gripped his shirt, fist pressing into his throat and a lethal presence loomed over him.

"WAIT!" he shrieked in terror, pushing against his assailant's chest with his bandaged hand.

Lightning flashed, revealing the stark white robes of his attacker and glinting off of the blade extending from his wrist, poised just above his throat.

"What business brings you here?" the Assassin demanded, his words punctuated by a crack of thunder. Another flash of lightning revealed his mouth, pulled back in a tight snarl and his eyes glittered mercilessly.

Samuel struggled to catch his breath, winded from his fall, the sudden surge of agony ripping through him and the panic racing through his blood.

"My name is Samuel Mainwaring," he gasped out. "Altair sent me from Acre!" his voice rose to a near-shrill pitch as the blade touched his throat. "He told me, when I arrived, to ask for a man named Malik—Malik al-Sayf. And a woman—his wife I think—Aliyah. And another man," he paused as the name suddenly fled his memory. "C-c-ca—Caleb! His name is Caleb. Please, please dear God, don't kill me!"

The Assassin held him a moment longer, then stood. Samuel lay there gasping for breath, his hand touching his throat where the blade had been and felt a trickle of blood.

"Come with me," the Assassin ordered, his voice low and dangerous.

Samuel struggled to his feet and the Assassin took hold of the horse's reins, leading them both through the gate and into the village. He sent the horse toward the stables with a sound smack on its rump and took Samuel up the winding path to the fortress. Lightning fractured the sky with increasing frequency and thunder cracked wrathfully as the first drops of rain began to fall. Exhausted from his injuries, the illness that followed and the ride to Masyaf, Samuel lost his footing and fell prone on the rocky ground. He hissed in pain and growled an oath under his breath. Then, his heart seized with fear when he felt a firm grip on his right arm.

"Do you want to be out here when the storm breaks, boy?" the Assassin asked gruffly and pulled him to his feet, steadying him for the rest of the climb.

Torches lined the walls of the fortress, casting a glow on the stones that was both beautiful and haunting. The Assassin led him inside as lightning split the sky open once more and the rain began to fall, drowning all other sound in its roar. Almost immediately after entering the fortress, they started up a flight of wide, stone steps. While Samuel had been grateful for the Assassin's grip on his arm during the trip to the fortress, now he was gritting his teeth in pain and worried that if he stopped, the man would probably drag him up the stairs.

"Wait," he wheezed at last, stumbling on a step. "Wait…please."

The Assassin looked back at him, his mouth pressed into a tight line.

"We're almost there, boy," he told him. "Then you can rest."

"Almost where?" Samuel asked, trying to breathe through the pain flaring from his broken ribs.

The Assassin didn't reply and started walking again, taking Samuel with him, though at a slightly slower pace. At the top of the stairs, he pushed through two doors and Samuel's eyes widened at the room beyond. Bookshelves lined the walls and stood back-to-back on the floor, torches and candles glowed, casting golden light over the stone floor and walls. The storm raged outside, lightning flashed just beyond the window and the rain fell like sabers.

A man stood by the massive desk, his black robe nearly touching the floor, and he turned at the sound of the doors opening. Samuel shivered under the dark look the man appraised him with and hesitated to enter the library. The Assassin's grip propelled him forward and he stood before the man, his heart pounding anxiously.

"Samuel Mainwaring," he said, his English was heavily accented but perfect.

Samuel chanced a glance at him and his blood chilled at the piercing gaze in the man's dark eyes.

"Yes, sir," he said quietly. "May I speak?"

"You may."

"I was told, when I arrived, to ask for a man named Malik al-Sayf," Samuel said. "Altair said I was to ask after a woman named Aliyah and a man named Caleb."

"I am Malik," the man replied. "What message did he give you?"

Samuel shook his head. "He didn't. He only said that I was to make myself known to you."

"Hm," Malik narrowed his eyes at him and walked back to the desk. "That is not what he told me."

Fear shivered up Samuel's spine. "I don't understand."

"He convinced me that you could be of use," Malik told him. "He trusts you," he added and his tone hardened. "I do not."

Samuel swallowed nervously and jerked his head around when the Assassin suddenly loomed behind him threateningly.

"If I were to execute you here and now, he would trust that my reasons were sound," Malik informed him coldly. "He says you were captured by the Templars."

"I was," Samuel replied and he unconsciously flexed his right hand. "They wanted to know where the Assassins were in Acre."

Malik nodded knowingly. "He seemed quite impressed with you, that you kept your silence through their torture, that you were willing to bleed for us." His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Perhaps you were. Or, perhaps you are just that devoted to your Order. You would not be the first to endure torture to secure a place among your enemies."

Samuel's eyes went wide at the accusation. "I—I'm not a Templar," he protested.

"Convince me," Malik ordered brusquely.

"How?" Samuel's voice was a croak.

Malik merely cocked an eyebrow and Samuel heard the hiss of a blade behind him.

"I'm not a Templar," he repeated desperately. "I _can't_ convince you! I have nothing! I'm a squire who turned on his master. I—I know how that must seem…but I only wanted to protect my family. Pierre was going to murder them! What was I supposed to do? I didn't expect to survive the day. I thought Altair would kill me and then, I was certain Saadiq would. But they…they saved me. They all did. And then, they came for me when I was captured…"

"You did not think they would," Malik stated, studying him keenly.

"No," Samuel replied. "I'd hoped, but…"

"You think yourself one of us?" Malik asked.

Samuel sighed sadly. "No. I don't know what I am any more. But a world ruled by men like Pierre is not one I want to live in."

Malik cocked an eyebrow at that statement, then looked at the Assassin behind Samuel. "What do you think, Caleb?"

Samuel started visibly and spun to look at the man who had attacked, then escorted him through Masyaf.

Caleb circled the boy, taking in every detail from his injuries to the measured breaths he was forcing himself to take.

"I think he needs a hot meal and a physician," he said at last.

Malik nodded and gestured to a chair near the desk. After receiving a nudge from Caleb, Samuel limped over to it and sat down with a pained groan, rolling his left shoulder.

"Physician first," Malik said and Caleb strode from the room.

Now that he was sitting, Samuel was nearly overwhelmed with the desire to fall asleep. His eyes were dry and heavy and every bone in his body ached. He looked up warily when Malik moved closer to him and watched as he poured a cup of quaveh. Then, to Samuel's shock, he offered him the steaming cup.

"Thank you," Samuel said quietly and accepted the drink, holding it awkwardly in his bandaged hand. His eyes fell to Malik's left sleeve and he realized that it didn't fall past his ribs. When he saw Malik watching him coolly, he ducked his head meekly.

"Whether you stare or not makes little difference," Malik told him. "You're a timid thing," he commented after a moment of silence, broke only by the sounds of the storm.

Samuel huffed a bitter laugh. "I don't want to die," he said simply. "At least, not for nothing."

"You would prefer for your death to be a glorious event?" Malik queried dryly.

"No," Samuel answered, nursing the hot cup in his hands. "I'm not sure how any death could be glorious. But, when I do die, I'd like for whatever I was doing that killed me to…make a difference."

"What sort of difference?"

"I don't know," Samuel shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what difference there is for me to make. I used to know what I was supposed to do. I was going to inherit my father's merchant business and take care of my mother and younger brother. Now, I have none of that. My countrymen want me dead. The people giving me shelter want me dead. So, I'm not sure what I am, anymore."

Malik's heart clenched slightly at the words 'younger brother' and his gaze went to the shadows between two bookshelves where he knew Aliyah stood. She stepped into the light just enough for him to see her and nodded.

Samuel suddenly stiffened in his chair and his eyes widened with apprehension.

Malik glanced down at him and couldn't help but be impressed.

 _The boy has good instincts._

"If you're going to kill me, please just—just get it done," Samuel said hoarsely. "Don't play with me."

Malik's shoulders fell in a resigned sigh and he stepped back.

"We're not going to kill you," Aliyah said, striding forward.

"Are you Aliyah?" Samuel asked before he could stop himself.

Malik's gaze snapped back to him and his eyes glinted dangerously. "What difference does that make, boy?"

Samuel looked at Malik, then back to the woman. "Altair said I needed to see a woman named Aliyah when I arrived."

Malik and the woman exchanged a significant look and he finally relented with a shrug.

"Malik, why have you dragged me from my bed at this unholy hour?" a gruff voice growled from the doorway, followed a moment later by an older man clutching a satchel. "Someone had better be dying."

"I thought I was, for a bit," Samuel murmured.

"You still may, boy, if you can't convince him to keep you alive," the physician grumbled.

"Don't frighten him anymore," Aliyah admonished gently. "He's suffered enough. Where is Caleb?"

"I told him to wait," the physician said, laying his satchel on the desk. "It's best if the boy endures this without food in him."

"En-endures what?" Samuel stammered nervously.

The physician's stern visage softened slightly. "I'm not here to torture you, boy. Though, in a moment, I'm certain you will be questioning that. Bring that light closer, Malik."

He unwrapped the bandage on Samuel's hand and the light revealed swollen, red flesh where his finger used to be. Then, the physician's hand went from his wrist to his forehead.

"He's feverish," he reported. "Once I've finished, feed him and send him to bed."

Malik nodded and Aliyah took Samuel's cup and set it on the desk.

The physician held a rag beneath Samuel's hand and wrapped his strong fingers around the stub of his finger, wringing the corruption from the injury. Samuel yelped in surprised pain and grit his teeth while the man continued the action until nothing but blood flowed. Then, he cleaned it and wrapped a fresh bandage around his hand. He then turned his attention to Samuel's snapped elbow. Samuel unconsciously leaned away from him when he slid his hand into the rough sling. Then, his brow furrowed in thought, he pressed his hands against Samuel's ribs. Samuel hissed in pain and jerked away involuntarily.

"Do they pain you that much, boy?" the physician asked, his tone wavering between concern and disdain.

"No—well, yes, but it isn't just that," Samuel replied, trying to take a deep breath. "There's…burns. And they cut me up fairly well, too."

"Hm," the physician frowned and stood. "I'll examine him further in the morning. Drink this once you have eaten," he handed Samuel a small vial. "It will help the pain so you can sleep."

Caleb came into the room holding a bowl and a tankard. The smell of spices wafted up from the soup and they all perked up at the appetizing scent.

"I imagine I'll be seeing you in the morning, as well," the physician remarked as he walked out.

Samuel took a cautious sip of the soup and sagged with relief as the hot liquid coursed through him. He'd made the ride to Masyaf with only a few stops, never long enough to sleep or make a meal, limiting himself to dried meat and water that tasted like leather after the first several hours.

"Thank you," he said in a hoarse, heartfelt whisper.

As soon as he'd finished, Caleb led him from the library and settled him into a room.

"In the morning, don't leave on your own," he warned. "I can't guarantee your safety among the others."

Samuel nodded and sat on the bed after the door slid shut. He drank the physician's vial and heaved an exhausted sigh. Within moments, he felt a numbness creeping over him and he laid down, groaning softly as his bandaged ribs shifted. Suddenly nervous, he fought his exhaustion, afraid to fall asleep and leave himself vulnerable. Then, he gave a wry chuckle. If the Assassins wanted to kill him, the only difference being awake would make would that he might see the blade coming. He was already overly warm from his fever and didn't bother using the blanket. He dozed off listening to the sound of the storm and pretended he was back home.

* * *

"Well, things make a little more sense now," Caleb remarked, nursing a hot cup of quaveh.

Malik looked at the spy, his brow furrowed in thought. "How so?" he asked, leaning against the edge of the desk and taking a sip of his own drink.

Aliyah stood close by, listening to the men talk. For all of Malik's protests, he had filled the role of a leader with incredible ease. She was proud of him, proud that he had decided to trust Altair's judgement in regard to Samuel. Though she didn't truly trust him either, she hadn't wanted to see him killed.

"I thought it was odd that Altair would tell the boy to ask for me and Aliyah as well as you," Caleb elaborated. "He included Aliyah, because he intends the boy to stay. He included me, because I was the one best suited to convince you that the boy was safe to trust…to an extent."

"To an extent?" Malik repeated, his tone a mixture of incredulity and displeasure, something Aliyah hadn't heard since he'd helped train the novices outside the fortress.

Caleb chuckled and pushed his hood back, running a hand through his light hair. "Malik, I only trust _you_ to an extent," he said.

Malik frowned at him, then shrugged. "Fair enough," he relented. "How did you manage to drag Akilah from her bed to make soup in the middle of the night, and survive the endeavor?" he asked after a moment.

"I didn't wake her," Caleb replied and Malik stared at him in stunned disbelief. "I cooked it myself. I'm more than capable and I didn't see the point in disturbing the poor woman."

Malik's disbelief turned to horror. "You…cooked a meal…in Akilah's kitchen?"

Caleb grinned and Malik realized that the spy knew he had courted death by doing so.

"I cleaned up," he said easily. "She'll never know. I'm a spy, Malik," he added when the Dai shook his head despairingly. "My life regularly depends on managing such tiny details. I assure you, it's fine."

"I hope you're right," Malik said heavily and Aliyah smiled.

"I took Robert's journal out of his tent and hid it beneath Jerusalem," Caleb reminded him. "When they captured and tortured me, they never asked me where it was because he still hadn't realized it was gone. Believe me, Akilah will never know."


	37. Chapter 37

A/N: Hihi! So, finally got another chapter to you. There's not a lotlot happening as far as action, there's a good bit of dialogue, but it's setting the stage for events down the road and trust me, you will enjoy them ;)

Shoutouts to: 1Corinthians 1313 and Alexe-audron! Thanks so much for taking the time to review!

1Corinthians 1313, Samuel gets better, don't worry.

Alexe-audron, I'm so glad you found my fic and I'm ecstatic that you're enjoying it! Hope it continues to satisfy!

Enjoy!

* * *

Akilah strode into the kitchen and began lighting the candles and torches, filling the room with a warm glow that drove the blackness of night back through the windows. The sun had yet to rise but her girls would arrive soon, so she began setting out the necessary items for breakfast.

She paused, looking around the kitchen with sharp eyes. Something wasn't right. She stared hard at each corner of the room, looking for anything amiss and finding nothing. She scowled, not placated in the least, and heaved a frustrated sigh.

What was that smell?

She marched to her spice jars and the smell grew stronger. She snatched the lids off and her eyes narrowed in satisfaction at the sight of the peculiar combination of grooves and mounds that resulted from fingers pinching up the spices.

No one in Masyaf would dare come into her kitchen uninvited and no one would ever be bold enough to help themselves to her spices.

"Hmph," she said, closing the jars. "I do believe I know who it responsible for this."

* * *

Samuel awoke to the sun shining across his closed eyes and he blinked painfully in the light. The sunrise was a beautiful combination of fiery oranges and reds but the only thing he could focus on was the pain flaring from his stiff body. He shuddered from the chill that suddenly clenched his insides. He slid off the bed and reached out shakily for his cloak, wrapping it around his shoulders.

The door opened and an Assassin entered the room. The man was shorter than Caleb but no less intimidating. In fact, Samuel could feel the glower the man fixed him with and had to force himself not to take a half-step back.

"Come with me," he said gruffly and led the way from the room.

Samuel followed, clutching his side and clenching his teeth to keep them from chattering. The Assassin took him through the fortress and to another simple, wooden door. He knocked twice and entered the room. Samuel recognized the physician and he sighed in relief.

"Do you require my assistance?" the Assassin asked blandly.

"No," the physician answered promptly, dismissing him. "Come here, boy, let me have a better look at you."

Samuel limped over to him and stripped off his shirt. The older man's eyes narrowed in displeasure at the wounds covering his torso. Many of them were inflamed and leaking corruption. However, he could also see that they had been tended well and the conditions had only developed over the course of a few days. He removed the bandages and examined Samuel's ribs.

"Who set these?" he asked.

"Saadiq and Waseem," Samuel replied with a wince.

"Hm, they will heal well enough," the physician said gruffly. "Sit," he ordered.

He then set to cleaning the other wounds. Samuel grit his teeth and clenched his eyes shut, fighting to hold still and the physician's brows rose in mild approval. When he'd finished, sweat was dripping down Samuel's face and the boy inhaled a deep shuddering breath, sagging in the chair. The physician wrapped a fresh bandage around him.

"Come and see me this evening," he instructed. "Those burns need to breathe, so that bandage will have to come off for a while." He looked at Samuel's eyes, noting the slight glassiness of his gaze. "How do you feel?"

"A little cold," Samuel answered and a shiver punctuated the statement.

"Hm, you still have a slight fever. Hopefully, we can prevent it from becoming severe," the physician said. "Ibrahim!"

The door opened and the Assassin stepped inside.

"Take him to Malik."

Ibrahim nodded and jerked his head toward the hall. Samuel followed in silence, feeling the hostility radiating off the man.

 _Is he one of the ones Caleb was talking about when he told me not to leave my room alone?_

Malik was in the library and he looked up expectantly when they entered. Then, his expression fell in mild disappointment.

"I thought you might have been Aliyah," he remarked to Ibrahim.

He had barely finished speaking when she entered the room with food, her mouth pursed as she fought a smile.

"What is so funny?" Malik asked.

"Akilah found out that Caleb was in her kitchen," she said.

"Who is Akilah?" Samuel asked.

The two men exchanged a look that he couldn't decipher.

"She is the woman in charge of the kitchen," Aliyah replied.

* * *

During all of his years as an Assassin, Caleb had faced the wrath of his Brothers, teachers, marauders, soldiers, civilians and Templars. None of them had made his pulse quicken with anxiety the way the infuriated woman that stood before him did.

"You creep into my kitchen in the middle of the night like a rat," she said, her voice low with anger. "You have not been in Masyaf for some time, Caleb, so I am willing to suspect that another tempted you into this foolishness."

Caleb swallowed nervously, eyeing the heavy spoon in her hand and the various knives on the table. "No," he said. "No one. But!" he raised his voice as she brought the spoon forward. "If I may have a chance to explain myself?"

Her eyes narrowed to slits. "You had better speak quickly, boy. My girls have locked those doors and if I dislike what I hear, you won't sit a horse for a week."

Caleb had talked his way out of certain death more than once, but this was not time to be overconfident.

"Altair sent a boy to us from Acre," he began. "When he arrived, he was wounded and sick. My time away from Masyaf has not dulled my memory, Akilah, but you do so much already that I did not wish to disturb what little rest you were getting for something as trivial as a bowl of soup."

She cocked her head warningly, hearing the honey dripping from his lips as he talked.

"I assure you," he continued, "you will find nothing amiss _and_ —" he said emphatically when she began to interrupt him, "—because I would never take something without providing proper compensation, I went to the market this morning." He held out four small bags and the scent of the spices wafted up from them.

Akilah accepted the bags with a suspicious cock of an eyebrow and examined the contents carefully. Then, she handed them to one of the woman.

"You had best be careful with that honeyed mouth, Caleb," she warned. "One day, it may not save you. Unlock the door, Tikvah, so he can leave."

He inclined his head deeply in gratitude and left the kitchen. When he heard the door close behind him, he let out the breath he'd been holding and flexed his clammy hands.

* * *

"What makes a servant betray his lord?" Malik asked, fixing Samuel with a cool look.

Samuel shifted nervously. "My family followed Pierre Delacroix to the Holy Land," he began. "My father is a merchant, he has several ships at his disposal that he gave to Pierre. When Pierre insisted my father accompany him…how could he refuse?"

Malik nodded his understanding but his brows were still knit in a frown.

"My family has always been loyal," Samuel went on. "We've served for generations and we've only known the benevolence of the Delacroix family. Their laws were strict and the punishments unforgiving, but aside from that, they cared for their people. When we arrived, my father reestablished his business as though he'd planned to all along and I became Pierre's squire."

"Thereby elevating your family's status even further," Malik remarked.

Samuel nodded but his eyes were pleading. "It was an honor for me…or so I thought." He rubbed the back his neck and sighed. "I was cleaning his armor one afternoon and I finished early. When I returned it to his chambers, I saw a half-finished letter on his desk. I never intended to intrude in his business but I recognized some of the words. He would write in code, you see? And I had learned some of it, enough to see that he planned to kill off my family and put another person in charge of my father's business."

"And who was this?" Malik asked.

"Maria Thorpe," Samuel answered. "Generations of loyalty meant nothing. What was I supposed to do? My father would have never believed me and if I had confronted Pierre, I would have been executed on the spot. Was I supposed to stand by, idle and mute, while his men—those animals—butchered my father and younger brother? While they brutalized my mother?"

Malik tilted his head back, studying the former squire. The boy's eyes, while glassy with his fever, were also sharp with fear and desperation as he recalled those moments.

"I could not see an alternative course of action," Samuel finished softly. "I am not proud of what I did. The only thing worse than a servant turning on his master is a son turning on his father. But if I had the choice to make again, I would."

Malik nodded slowly. "What skills do you have?"

Samuel looked at him in surprise. "Um…I speak English, French and Arabic. I can read and write in all three languages and I can read Templar code. Well, unless they've changed it."

"If they have, could you relearn it?" Malik asked.

"Yes," Samuel answered confidently.

"You may be of use after all," Malik remarked. He strode around the desk and produced a small stack of papers. "You can start translating these."

He watched Samuel carefully and was surprised to see the boy's eyes spark with excitement. Samuel stepped to the desk and pulled the papers closer to him, inspecting them with a thoughtful frown. He pulled one out of the stack and started reading it.

Malik snatched it from his hand like a bird of prey capturing a mouse and Samuel gave him a startled, wide-eyed look. "You can start after breakfast. Ibrahim will escort you," he nodded at the Assassin.

Ibrahim stepped forward with a respectful nod but Samuel could still see the dislike in his eyes.

"How long will this be necessary?" Samuel asked.

"Until I am certain you are in no danger from the other Assassins," Malik replied.

Samuel nodded and followed Ibrahim out of the library.

Malik sighed tiredly and caught Aliyah's amused glance. "What?"

She smiled. "You like him."

He cocked an eyebrow. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She laughed lightly. "You saw his face when you showed him those papers. He's a scholar at heart, like you."

"You think me a scholar?" he asked with a laugh.

"I do," she answered and stepped closer to him. "I am pleased to have married such a learned man."

He couldn't help the smile that tugged on his mouth as he looked down into her shining eyes. "I would not count myself so well-read," he said, dropping his voice. "I only know one book by heart."

"Oh?" she queried.

"It is my favorite, you see?" he went on. "I read it every day, from the moment I awaken until I fall asleep," he took her hand, "and I never tire of it."

She pressed his hand between hers, cherishing his tender tone. "Never?"

He shook his head. "Never."

"Why did you assign Ibrahim to guard him instead of me?" she asked curiously.

"Ibrahim's temper burns a little hotter than yours," he replied. "The others will be less likely to test him."

"You truly believe Samuel is in danger here," she stated in surprise.

"I do," he answered. "I'll leave him with Ibrahim and keep him working in the library until the others become accustomed to his presence. Where is Caleb?"

"I don't know," she answered and at the sound of boots, they both looked toward the door.

Caleb strode into the library and huffed a sigh. "Remind me, in the future, that venturing into the kitchen is exceptionally dangerous."

"Very well," Malik grinned knowingly, then he became serious. "I have work for you."

"Ah, I was wondering when you'd tire of me," Caleb commented.

"I need you to stay in Masyaf a little longer," Malik informed him and Caleb's eyes widened in surprise. "You speak these languages perfectly," Malik continued, gesturing to the stack of letters on the desk, "I need to know if Samuel plans to deceive us."

Caleb nodded slowly. "You want me to monitor his translations."

"Quietly," Malik emphasized.

Caleb smiled. "Malik, I know no other way to be."


	38. Chapter 38

A/N: TADAA! I am alive! If I fall to my knees and beg for forgiveness, would that make up for the horrible amount of time that has passed since my last update? I'm so sorry. Three things: 1) Senior year in college, so yeah, the workload. Bleh. 2) My dad did two stays in the hospital. He's okay, but still, it was MUCH stress. 3) I was sick over Christmas and I'm the world's biggest weenie when it comes to being sick and everybody knows better than to ask me for anything then. HOPEFULLY, I can start updating more often now.

Shoutouts to: 1Corinthians 1313, MagicInTheStars and Axoire! Thanks so much for talking to me!

Axoire, I'm sooo happy you found me!

MagicInTheStars, yes the sass lol.

1Corinthians 1313, Akilah is a little bit scary and those are always fun to write ;)

To everybody that has read and faved and followed and put up with my nonexistent upload schedule, whether you've reviewed or not, you have earned sainthood. To you, I give this solemn promise: I will never, EVER, abandon a story. No matter how much time passes, I will finish what I start. Carve that in stone.

Enjoy!

* * *

Samuel rolled out of bed before the sun had begun to rise. His room was still dark and he turned up the lamp just enough to see what he was doing. He dressed as quickly as he could without disturbing his bandages and just as he slipped on his shoes, the door opened.

He startled slightly, but not as badly as he had the day before. Ibrahim never knocked and his expression whenever he looked at Samuel was an intense glower of distrust. Samuel was quickly becoming accustomed to it.

"Who stands by my door when you do not?" he asked suddenly.

Ibrahim's eyes narrowed to slits. "Of what benefit would that information be to you?"

"I was only curious," Samuel replied simply.

"Save your curiosity for the library, boy."

Samuel nodded and stood, and suddenly felt lightheaded. He blinked it away and followed Ibrahim to the library. He lit the candles, sat at his table and began his translations once more. Within moments, he forgot about Ibrahim lurking nearby and was completely engrossed in the paper and ink before him. For the past two days, he'd had a fairly easy time with the papers. Most of them were the semi-personal correspondence between Crusader officials and reports dealing with losses, supplies and troop numbers. At times, he'd find a Saracen document and that would force him to pause briefly as his mind changed from English to Arabic.

Malik came into the room as the sky began to lighten and he glanced around the room, checking its occupancy out of years of habit. Then, he looked again as he caught sight of Samuel in the corner, bent so low over his table that his nose was nearly touching the parchment he was reading.

"There are more candles," he said dryly.

Samuel looked up in surprise, then realized just close to the paper he was. "Oh," he smiled sheepishly. "I have plenty of light."

Malik glanced over the report. "Are troop numbers and the like so interesting, then?"

"All of it is interesting," Samuel replied and his eyes shone with a scholar's love. "Ever since I learned to read, there haven't been enough written words to satisfy me. Stories, factual documents. I love words. So many people will never comprehend how beautiful words can be."

Malik nodded slowly. "Powerful, as well."

Samuel's face fell slightly. "Yes, and that makes them frightening."

"Indeed," Malik agreed quietly, recalling so many words, so many lies.

"May I ask you something?" Samuel asked carefully.

Malik glanced at him in surprise. "You may. But I may not give you an answer."

"Fair enough," Samuel nodded. "Has there been any word from the Acre Bureau?"

Malik's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"I've been worried," Samuel explained. "With all the Templars in the city, if they found it…would it survive?"

"Yes, it would," Malik replied and turned to his desk. "And yes, we have received word from Acre. The Assassins are fine. The Templars have no interest in locating the Bureau."

"What about Maria Thorpe?"

"What of her?" Malik asked.

"She was searching for them when she captured me," Samuel told him. "It's the reason she captured me, actually."

"Hm, yes so I heard."

Samuel glanced up at him and his stomach twisted with Malik's dismissal.

"Jabal is no fool," Malik relented after a moment. "And Saadiq is cautious. They will be fine."

Samuel nodded, content and relieved and finished the report. Caleb took Ibrahim's place as Samuel's guard a short time later but he seemed even more disinterested in his charge than Ibrahim. When lunchtime came, Aliyah strode inside with two plates of food. One she gave to Malik. The other, she set before Samuel.

"I'll stay, Caleb," she said. "Go and get a meal."

Caleb nodded his gratitude and left.

"Thank you," Samuel said sincerely and carefully started eating the hot meal.

Aliyah studied him for a moment, taking in the feverish flush of his cheeks. She frowned thoughtfully. A slight fever was to be expected, considering the injuries he'd arrived with, but she didn't want it to worsen.

"What has the physician said about your injuries?" she asked.

Samuel looked up in surprise. "Well, very little actually," he said after swallowing a mouthful of bread. "When I see him in the evenings, he looks, pokes, prods, and sends me to bed."

She couldn't help but smile at his succinct summation and behind her, Malik coughed lightly.

"I suppose I'm alright though," Samuel shrugged slightly. "I wouldn't complain if my arm healed a bit faster, though."

"I imagine not," Aliyah commented dryly.

Caleb returned a little time later and resumed his post by Samuel and Aliyah left the library. Samuel remained engrossed in the papers before him, never noticing the spy reading over his shoulder in stolen glances.

As the sun sank lower, Samuel's pen moved a little slower. Pain pulsed behind his eyes and he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the looming headache. When he looked back at the parchment, his gaze fell on a name.

Aaron Wright.

 _I know that name…_

The more he tried to remember, the farther the memory went. Finally, he shook his head and carried on with his work. However, he couldn't shake his feeling of unease and the more he read, the greater it became. Aaron Wright had supplied Robert with excellent information about the cities and even found out some Assassin informants.

"Malik?" he called hesitantly.

"Hm," Malik grunted.

"Does the name Aaron Wright have any significance?"

Malik looked up with a frown. "Why do you ask?"

"I found his name in a report to Robert de Sable," Samuel brandished the paper. "He provided information on some Assassin informants."

Malik cocked his head. "I'll look over that one."

Samuel nodded and turned back to the paper. The words swam before his eyes and he rubbed his hand over his face.

"Caleb, make sure he gets to the physician and back to his room," Malik instructed without looking up.

"Of course," Caleb nodded and prodded Samuel out of his seat.

"I'm alright," Samuel insisted. "I'm just a little tired."

Malik looked up then and Samuel ducked his head at the Assassin's stern expression. Caleb led him from the room without another word. As they left, another Assassin entered.

"Malik, I have a report from Haroun al Rachid in Jerusalem."

"What does he have to say?"

Samuel balked at the name, the memory he needed dancing just beyond his grasp.

"Come on," Caleb said not unkindly.

Samuel fell asleep the instant his head touched his pillow but it was a restless one. His mind wrestled with the name Aaron Wright, trying to dredge up the memory he needed to put the question to rest.

He awoke with a gasp and nearly fell in his haste to get out of bed. "Ibrahim! Are you there?" he called, fighting to get free of his blankets.

The Assassin walked in with a scowl. "What, boy?"

"I have to see Malik!" Samuel exclaimed, finally getting to his feet. The room swam before his eyes and he swayed, steadying himself with a hand on the bed.

Ibrahim crossed his arms. "On what grounds?"

Samuel rubbed a hand over his face, barely noticing the sweat beading on his forehead. "Haroun al Rachid," he said in a strained voice. His head throbbed. "He's…he's a spy. He's…in the reports as a Templar informant."

Ibrahim's hand dropped to his dagger. "Watch your tongue, boy," he growled. "I have known Haroun for years."

"What is going on?" Caleb stepped into the room, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Haroun al Rachid is a Templar informant," Samuel said before Ibrahim could speak. "I found him in the reports this afternoon under the name Aaron Wright."

Caleb studied him. The boy's eyes were fever-bright and his skin was flushed. "I'll fetch Malik."

"Sit, boy, before you collapse," Ibrahim told him gruffly.

"I'm fine," Samuel insisted, leaning heavily against the bed.

"What is it about Haroun that you had me dragged from my bed at this unholy hour?" Malik asked with dry impatience.

"He's a Templar informant," Samuel said for what felt like the hundredth time. "He has another name: Aaron Wright. It's a rough, English equivalent. He's in both the Assassin's reports and the Templars." He looked at Caleb pleadingly. "The papers are on my table. The dates match. I've _met_ him!" The room suddenly felt unbearably warm.

Malik turned to the dark hallway. "Stay here," he instructed to someone just out of sight and walked out. "Caleb, come with me."

Caleb left and Aliyah stepped inside. She wasn't wearing her Assassin's robes, but a simple dress and scarf.

Samuel's knees buckled and darkness encroached on the edges of his vision. Strong arms lifted him back onto the bed and he saw Ibrahim's disdainful scowl.

"I'm not mad," Samuel insisted weakly.

Aliyah tugged the Assassin away and stepped to Samuel's side. "Hand me that pitcher and a towel," she instructed, laying a hand on Samuel's hot forehead.

A cool cloth soon followed her words and he leaned into it with a moan. "My head…"

She unfastened his shirt and saw the red, half-healed wounds the physician had been tending. Samuel's teeth chattered as the cool air hit his fever sensitive skin.

"Should I get the physician?" Ibrahim asked.

Aliyah looked up sharply at his bland tone. "I think you can see how much good that has done him, thus far."

Ibrahim's dark eyes glinted with defensive anger. "He is my enemy."

"And what was I?" she countered.

He grimaced. "That isn't the same," he told her firmly.

"Isn't it?" she pressed. "I did not belong. Neither does he. I would hope you would extend him the same courtesy you did me, once."

Ibrahim hesitated, then nodded. "As you wish." His stiff tone concealed the dull pain he felt from her words, the memories of her days as a Novice.

She turned back to Samuel, wetting the cloth afresh. He closed his eyes in relief when she laid it on his forehead and Ibrahim finished stripping off his shirt.

"It's…not that bad," Samuel told her with a weak smile. "I've spent…every night like this so far."

She gave him a shocked look. "Why did you not speak sooner?"

"I thought…it would pass with enough time," he confessed through chattering teeth.

She shook her head, her lips pursed in a scolding expression. "Foolish boy," she muttered as she tugged a blanket over him.

Ibrahim shook his head. "He knew," he said in a low tone, speaking Arabic. "He knew the infection was still present. But why ask for help when the doctor leaves you to suffer?"

Aliyah nodded in grim understanding and glanced at the door when she heard Malik's soft steps. Caleb wasn't with him. He took in the boy's fevered shivering with narrowed eyes and when Aliyah pulled the blanket back to show him the inflamed sutures, his gaze hardened with anger.

"I shall send for Hashima first thing in the morning," he said as he poured a cup of water and added a pinch of powdered herbs. "Give him that," he handed the cup to Aliyah.

She pressed the cup to Samuel's lips and he drank it eagerly. A few minutes later, his eyelids fluttered closed, though his shivers lasted a bit longer.

"I sent birds to the Bureaus," Malik said quietly. "Caleb will leave at dawn."

"You believe him?" Ibrahim asked in dark disbelief.

"No," Malik replied evenly. "But neither am I willing to risk the danger of yet another traitor in our ranks."

* * *

A young woman approached the fortress in the gray light of dawn carrying a basket. She eyed the gate nervously.

"Who comes?" an Assassin called.

"I am Aida," she replied. "Hashima sent me with herbs."

An Assassin stepped into her line of sight. "Where is Abdul?" his deep voice wasn't the same that had demanded she identify herself. He sounded displeased.

She took a half-step back. "I—I do not know. He left after delivering the message." Then, her nerves overcame her. "Hashima was not feeling well and so I—I told her that I would come instead." She bit her lip and held up the basket. "Do you still need them?"

The Assassin approached like a specter through the mist. "What did she send?"

"I'm…not sure," she answered, her voice trembling slightly. "I—I am learning but she sent so many…she was not sure what would be necessary."

The Assassin nodded. "Come with me," he said in a less severe tone and led her into the fortress. The halls were quiet in the early hour but she still found herself trying to hide in his shadow. He took her into a room and she paused at the sight of Samuel lying on the bed, his blonde hair soaked with water and fever sweat. The woman sitting by him turned when they entered.

"Ah, thank you," she said softly and stood to take the basket.

Aida nodded and ducked her head slightly. This woman was striking, even wearing such simple clothing and it only made her acutely aware of her plainness.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" she asked.

"Yes, there is," the woman answered with relief. "We need to draw the infection from his injuries. Would you prepare the necessary herbs? What is your name?"

"I am Aida," she answered softly and began to select the herbs she needed.

"Thank you, Aida. I am Aliyah."

"I will see if the water is hot," the Assassin said and turned to leave.

"Thank you, Ibrahim," Aliyah said sincerely.

"You speak to him?" Aida asked in shock once Ibrahim was gone.

"He and I trained as Novices," Aliyah said with a faint smile. "We know each other well."

Aida nearly dropped the herbs in her hand. "Oh! Oh, it is you!" she exclaimed softly. "I remember the village speaking of a woman training with the Assassins."

Aliyah nodded. "Yes, it was I," she laughed softly, almost sadly. "It was highly disapproved of."

"It was," Aida agreed, then ducked her head. "Forgive me. That was inappropriate." She turned back to her herbs, wanting to finish the work before her presence began to tax Aliyah's patience.

"Truth is never inappropriate," Aliyah told her. "Any who say otherwise simply do not wish to hear it."

Aida did not reply and continued her work. The faint rasping of leaves and the click of vials were the only sounds aside from Samuel's breathing. Ibrahim came back sometime later with two other men and they carried Samuel down to the washroom to soak the infection from his injuries. He awoke with a startled gasp and his fever-bright eyes looked at the men in obvious apprehension.

"Take him down before the water cools," Ibrahim said gruffly.

"Wait," Samuel said hoarsely, his addled mind only grasping the word water. "I can't swim."

"Relax, boy, it's only a bath," Ibrahim told him.

Samuel nodded after a moment. "What about Aaron?" he asked worriedly.

Ibrahim frowned at him, still resentful of the boy's accusation. "We've heard nothing yet." He turned to Aliyah as the men took Samuel from the room. "Get some rest, Sister. I will see the girl home."

Aliyah nodded, her eyes shadowed with the need for sleep. "Thank you," she told Aida. "Please, tell Hashima that I will visit soon."

"I will," Aida promised and followed Ibrahim out and through the fortress. The walk to Hashima's home was a silent one and Aida kept her gaze fixed on the heels of his boots. Hashima met them at the door and the old woman's lined face seemed drawn in the morning light.

"Are you unwell?" Ibrahim asked with concern.

Hashima smiled tiredly. "I am old," she replied. "Thank you for walking her back. Come, Aida, I have breakfast. Will you stay, Ibrahim? I have fresh quaveh," her smile broadened.

He couldn't help but smile at the obvious bribe. "Of course." He pushed his hood back as he stepped into the house.

"Sit," she gestured to a cushion. "Pour the quaveh, child," she told Aida.

The girl startled slightly. She hadn't expected the Assassin to show his face so casually. His dark eyes were piercing and his gaze was sharp, almost predatory. Even still, there was something almost noble about his features and she felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment. When she poured the drink, her hands shook so badly the cup rattled on its plate.

As Ibrahim and Hashima talked, his gaze strayed ever so often to the girl on his left. She never looked up once and rarely spoke but she was attentive and kept his cup full without prompting. The action almost seemed manic, as though she was afraid not to.

"I don't remember you," he said suddenly.

Aida's head snapped up and she swallowed nervously. "My family is from Damascus," she said quickly. "When my father died, I was sent here to my brother."

"Ah, I see," Ibrahim nodded and set his cup down. "I must return."

"Of course," Hashima said as he stood. "Stay well, Ibrahim."

"And you," he returned, pulling his hood up again.

Aida watched him leave and though her nerves subsided in his absence, she almost wished he had stayed longer. As she stepped to the window and watched him go, she missed Hashima's curious expression as well as the old woman's knowing half-smile.

Ibrahim reached the bend in the road and looked back at the little house. "Aida," he said her name quietly, as though committing it to memory. Somehow, it seemed…important.


	39. Chapter 39

A/N: Hihi! So, we've got some small things happening here. Nothing too big but we're kinda gearing up for some other things to happen. Altair's not back yet. According to canon, he was gone for a few years actually, so I've got some time and room to play around and cause problems for Malik and the others ;)

Shoutouts to: 1Corinthians 1313, Axoire, Lithuiwen2016, and Shy911! Thanks for the reviews! Welcome new readers, so happy you found me!

Lithuiwen2016, Ibrahim seems to have found a girl, doesn't he?

Axoire, Altair's first lady-love was named Ada. I know it's just a spelling variation but it's the only name I liked for this character. So glad you followed! Hope you continue to enjoy!

Enjoy!

* * *

Caleb rode into Masyaf, weary in both body and soul. He left his horse in the care of the stable boy and made his way slowly to the fortress, keeping a hand pressed to his ribs. The bandage needed changing two days ago, but he hadn't been willing to delay any longer. He limped into the main hall.

"What news do you bring?" Abdul asked abruptly, nearly stepping directly into Caleb's path.

"Step into my path, boy, and it will be the last thing you do," Caleb growled, too tired to be patient and in too much pain to be polite to the cur. He barely had the energy to scowl. He made his way to the library, knowing he'd find Malik there. If he wasn't, he would be at some point in the near future. When he heard Malik's voice, he sighed with relief.

Malik looked up in concerned surprise when Caleb all but staggered in. Then, his expression became one of intense dismay. "I see the boy spoke truthfully."

Caleb nodded. "He did. Unfortunately. Haroun spent years lying to us, but at least his last words rang of truth."

Malik sighed dismally. "How many more, I wonder?"

"I'm sure we'll find out in time," Caleb said with a cynical bark of laughter. "For now, though, the problem has been solved."

"You are certain of that?" Malik queried.

Caleb cocked an eyebrow. "I am nothing, if not thorough. The only question I didn't ask him was why he disliked quaveh. Frankly, I think he should have been killed for that alone." He smirked at Malik's shocked expression. "Well, does it not smack of disloyalty?"

Malik couldn't help but chuckle wryly. "Perhaps not, but who can tell these days?"

"How is the boy?" Caleb asked.

"Healing," Malik told him. "Truly healing this time. Hashima sends her apprentice each day and she helps Aliyah tend to him."

Caleb frowned slightly at that. "I see. Well, I'd like to see him neglect my wounds." He turned to leave.

"If he does?" Malik asked curiously.

"Well, then I would have to tell Akilah why I can no longer supply the spices she loves so much," Caleb smirked.

Malik tipped his head up. "Ah, yes, she would be most displeased with that news."

Caleb nodded. "Yes, she would be."

The physician bandaged his cracked ribs and stitched the gash in his side in silence, his scowl even more severe than usual. As Caleb left, he heard the man grumbling under his breath about "wasting his efforts on that boy." Now that he could breathe, Caleb went to check on Samuel's condition. The boy deserved to know he'd been right. Aliyah answered his knock and he entered the room.

Samuel was sitting up on the bed, wrapped in a blanket, nursing a steaming cup of tea. His eyes were shadowed from all his nights of fitful sleep but when he saw Caleb, his expression turned anxious.

Caleb nodded. "You were right."

Samuel dropped his eyes. "I'm sorry." His voice was a tired croak.

Caleb gave a small shrug. "I'd rather find out from you than find a knife in my back. How are you feeling?"

Samuel huffed a faint laugh. "Tired."

"Finish that," Aliyah told him gently. "Then, go back to sleep. Are you alright, Caleb?"

He nodded. "A scratch or two. I'm fine. Where is Ibrahim?" He'd expected the suspicious Assassin to be in the room.

"He is escorting Aida back to Hashima's house," Aliyah replied, helping settled Samuel back into bed.

* * *

Aida watched Ibrahim walk away from the house and immediately burst into tears. Hashima watched sympathetically from the kitchen doorway. The poor girl was hopelessly in love with the Assassin and had been from the first day.

"Come help me prepare lunch, child," she called gently.

Aida spun around, hastily wiping her eyes. "Of—of course, I am sorry. Of course." She hurried into the kitchen with her head down and threw herself into the work as though her life depended on it.

"Aida," Hashima began gently only for the girl to duck her head in shame. "Come here, child," she pulled the crying girl into a motherly embrace. "It is alright."

"I'm not even pretty!" Aida cried quietly. "Not like she is."

"Aliyah is married, child," Hashima told her and Aida lifted her head in surprise. "You did not know? She is wife to the Mentor's advisor, Malik al-Sayf."

Aida drew in a shaky breath. At least now, she wasn't committing the grievous wrong of coveting another woman's husband. "It makes little difference," she said dismally. "He would never want me."

"I'll not hear that," Hashima told her sternly. "You are a lovely girl, a woman of integrity. Purge your brother's poison from your ears, child. It was naught but lies."

"But he was right," she insisted tearfully. "I'm not pretty. I have no money. Nothing to entice a husband."

"Listen to me, child, and listen well," Hashima crooked her finger beneath Aida's chin. "The right man will not need to be enticed."

* * *

Hashima slowly walked the road to the fortress. She was immediately granted entrance.

"Hashima!" Aliyah greeted her in happy surprise. "How wonderful to see you! Is everything alright?" her expression suddenly turned worried.

"Yes and no, child," Hashima told her with a sigh. "I must speak with Malik, if he is otherwise unoccupied. Privately."

"Come, he'll be glad to see you," Aliyah led her up the stairs to the library.

Malik glanced up from his desk in surprise when Aliyah returned so quickly. However, it quickly turned to pleased surprise, then concern when he saw the serious expression Hashima wore. "To what do I owe this honor?" he asked, pulling out a chair for her.

Hashima sighed and her old bones seemed to sigh with her. "I would thank you to stop sending Ibrahim to my home," she said with weary authority. "He upsets my apprentice."

Malik blinked in shock. "What has he done?"

"He draws breath," Hashima told him enigmatically. "The girl would have married him the moment they met, if he'd asked."

"Oh," Malik said slowly, realizing just what kind of problem Ibrahim was causing. "Well, I'm certain I can find something for him to do instead. In fact, I was just looking for someone to send to Damascus. I believe Ibrahim will do nicely."

"Thank you, Malik," Hashima said with great relief. "I only want the girl to find her head again."

Malik chuckled. "I am happy to help. What else can I do for you?"

"Come visit," she answered with a motherly smile. "I'm only getting older, you know."

He nodded with a smile. "See that she gets home safely," he told his assistant. "And tell Ibrahim I need to speak with him. Safety and peace, Hashima." He stood and bowed slightly.

"And upon you as well," she inclined her head gravely and walked out ahead of the young Novice.

Malik sat in his chair with a thoughtful frown. "She's up to something."

Aliyah smiled. "You think so?"

"I know so," Malik told her. "I've seen that look before." _I see it each time I speak with her about you_.

"You wished to see me, Dai?" Ibrahim asked as he strode into the room.

"I need you to go to Damascus," Malik told him. "Jabal has requested outside assistance to ensure the Bureau stays secure. The reports are favorable, but in light of Haroun's betrayal, he has concerns."

"I understand," Ibrahim nodded. "How long will I be there?"

"Until he dismisses you," Malik replied.

"I will leave immediately," Ibrahim bowed slightly and turned smartly on his heel.

"Ibrahim," Malik called him back. "Keep your mind open as well as your eyes and ears."

Ibrahim nodded slowly, acknowledging the mild rebuke. "Of course, Dai."

The ride to Damascus was quiet, unlike the last time he'd traveled that road. Even the city was subdued, war-weary, hoping the chaos would end soon.

"Took you long enough," Jabal growled when he dropped into the Bureau. "You were almost sleeping on the roof."

Ibrahim bit back a grin. "I came as quickly as I could," he assured the old man.

Jabal waved a hand at him. "Talk to Saadiq. He'll get you everything you need." And so saying, he locked the lattice and shut himself in his bedroom for the night.

Saadiq chuckled from the doorway. "It is good to see you, Brother. Turn in for the night and I will tell you what I know in the morning."

Ibrahim nodded gratefully. The journey may have been uneventful, but it was no less tiring. As he rolled himself into his bedroll and started to doze off, instead of Aliyah's face, he saw a pair of soulful, black eyes watching him shyly and hands that shook terribly when they poured his quaveh. He rolled over with a faint, frustrated snort, only to have a name float through his mind instead.

 _Aida_.


	40. Chapter 40

A/N: I'm aliiiiive! I am! I swear! I'm sooo sorry it's been so long. I've been trying to graduate and hit one hiccup after another, no to mention the HOMEWORK, and job hunting, and trying to write my original stories for publishing and on and on and on. Thank you so much for your patience and everyone that's read and faved and reviewed. I am back.

I will finish this.

Shoutout to Valshaena! Thanks so much for talking to me! I'm so happy you found me and enjoyed the read so far. :)

I return with fluff as a gift for the extended hiatus that I didn't mean to go on. Don't worry, the angst should return relatively quickly lol.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Faster, boy! Faster! Like your life depends on it!" the master barked at Samuel as he ran the obstacle course.

His chest was burning and sweat was running into his eyes, but the barked orders were what broke his concentration and he mistimed a step, failed to raise his foot high enough, and his face hit the hard the ground before the rest of him of did.

The Assassin shook his head in disgust. "What Malik sees in you, I will never understand."

Samuel felt resentment flare in his core at that. He was no stranger to running, but he had nearly died. Surely he was allowed to not be at his best so soon. He sat back on his knees, holding his still tender ribs as he tried to breathe through the pain.

"You have to decide how badly you want this," Aliyah told him softly as the master walked away. "He is harsh, but he must be. You know better than most how hard our world is."

Samuel nodded. "I understand," he panted softly. "I do. But it doesn't make it easier for me to breathe."

She smiled and offered him a hand. "I know. It will get easier for you, though."

Samuel winced as she pulled him to his feet. "I suppose I'll try it again," he said with a faint, lopsided grin.

Aliyah nodded went to lean against the wall of the fortress. The sunbaked stones were warm against her back. These stones held good memories for her. Then, her gaze fell on the dark stains near the ground, the bursts of dark that looked as though children had bombarded the stones with mud.

She could still see each man that had died in those places. She knew their names. She still caught herself listening for their footsteps in the fortress, their voices in the market.

 _So many lost. So senseless, all of it._

"Aliyah," Malik's voice came from her left, right beside her.

She spun, startled, her blade out before she realized it was him.

He caught her arm gently like he'd been expecting this reaction. He had called her name three times and received no answer.

"Malik," she breathed in relief, and horror that she'd drawn her blade on her husband. "Forgive me, I—I did not realize…"

"It is alright, my star," he said softly, concern in his dark eyes. "I see them, as well."

Aliyah nodded slowly. She had shed so many tears for her brothers; she didn't think she had any more. However, Malik's gentle voice caused her eyes to burn lightly and she found herself blinking away moisture.

"Come, my love," Malik led her back into the fortress. The sun was hanging low. Samuel was long gone. "Let us eat and rest for tomorrow."

He took her up to their room where food was already waiting on the little table by the window. The sight caused her heart to throb dully with new pain.

"I…I am sorry, Malik," she whispered. "I did not realize how late it was." He was so busy already and he'd had to get his own meal.

Malik stepped forward and wiped away the tear that had slipped down her cheek. "Do not cry, my star. Not for this," he said with a gentle smile and kissed her forehead.

"The least I can do is provide your meals," Aliyah said softly, resting her forehead on his chest. "I cannot even be a proper wife."

"Shh, my love, you are a wonderful wife," Malik comforted. He slid her hood back so he could pet her hair. "A perfect wife. A wonderful woman. And were you not training Samuel this afternoon?"

"I…I cannot…remember," Aliyah shook her head.

Malik's expression turned worried. "You must rest, Aliyah."

"I am alright…" she began.

"Eat and rest, my star," Malik told her gently. "For me. Before you become ill."

She could not refuse him, even before she was his wife. "Very well," she nodded.

Malik kissed her cheek, then, very lightly, her lips. He missed her smile and the past several months had seen it less and less. Every week, Assassins would come either with reports of betrayals, marauding Crusaders or bandits or with traitors in tow. Aliyah had returned with more than one of their brothers and irrefutable evidence of their treachery. Each one, she played a part in their death and with each one, it seemed that a piece of her was lost. Her dark eyes, which once wept for their losses, were becoming dry and hard, like the unforgiving desert that surrounded them.

Aliyah rested her head on his chest. "When will it end?" she asked softly.

"Soon, I am sure," Malik promised even though the words were a lie, even to his own ears.

"When we return to the dust of the earth?" Aliyah murmured tiredly.

Malik chuckled faintly. "Hopefully sooner than that," he replied, rubbing her back. As worried as she was about being a proper wife, he hadn't had many opportunities to be a proper husband, either. Of late, he'd been more Dai and temporary Master, always sending her out on missions, maintaining peace within the order, executing judgments. To have her leaning on him this way was a small comfort to him.

He kissed her temple. "I think," he paused, feeling her tense ever so slightly. "I think I would prefer to keep you close for a little while," he finished gently.

She raised her head to look at him in confusion. "Why?"

 _Because this is changing you, my star. Hardening you, and I am to blame. You are among the best of the order and I forget. I forget who you truly are._

"Are you dissatisfied with my duties?" Aliyah asked worriedly.

"No," Malik shook his head. "Of course not." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I have missed you," he told her simply, a tender look in his dark eyes. "And I have kept sending you away, fool that I am."

Aliyah smiled softly at him and pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. "I have missed you, as well."

Malik cupped her cheek and deepened the kiss for a moment. "Sup with me, my love," he smiled. "It has been too long."

They ate by the open window as the sun set, painting the world in fiery gold and the stars appeared one by one.

"A beautiful night," Aliyah murmured, watching the deepening twilight.

"I hadn't noticed," Malik smiled, watching only her.

She blushed at that and glanced away shyly. Then she looked up in surprise as he reached across the table and took her hand, pressing her fingers to his lips.

"I have _missed_ you," he said softly, his voice almost pained.

Aliyah smiled and stood, still holding his hand, and sat on his knee. She petted his black hair back from his forehead and kissed him tenderly.

"Is it my Dai or my husband that wants me to stay behind?"

"Your husband," Malik replied. "So that he may beg your forgiveness for failing so utterly in his duties to you, his promise to take care of you. For allowing your Dai to keep sending you away from your home."

Aliyah smiled against his lips. "There is nothing to forgive, my husband," she whispered. "I will stay. Until you wish me to leave, I will stay."

"Then you will never leave again," Malik murmured, kissing her deeply. He spent the night there, leaned back against the wall, with his love sitting on his knee, telling her just much he had missed her, and how much he loved her, no matter how tiny the detail.

Ibrahim arrived in Masyaf three days later. He hadn't been expected until the fourth day but after so many months away, he had been eager to return.

 _Is Aida still apprenticed to Hashima, I wonder?_

When he road past the old woman's house, it was only because it was on the way to the fortress. Never mind that it was a ten-minute detour.

When he saw Aida leave the garden, his heart jolted in his chest and it was only because she could have fallen into his horse's path, not because she was more beautiful than he'd remembered.

He'd remembered her quite a bit.

Aida froze, clutching her basket to her chest as she stared at him in shock. "Ibrahim," she breathed as she felt her heart melt instantly.

"I wanted to see Hashima," he told her calmly. "Is she well?"

"You could always ask me yourself," Hashima smiled from where she was sitting in the shade by the door.

Ibrahim cursed himself. He hadn't seen her at all because he'd seen Aida first. "I suppose I could," he chuckled and Aida melted the rest of the way when she saw his smile. If only he would smile for her.

"Are you home to stay?" Hashima asked pleasantly.

"For now," Ibrahim nodded. "Until I am sent elsewhere."

"Have you time to have a cup of quaveh with an old woman?" Hashima smiled.

"I do," Ibrahim nodded with a smile and followed her into the house.

They talked of many things, until Hashima went into her kitchen to fetch a fresh loaf of bread.

"You seem well," Ibrahim commented softly to Aida.

Her eyes flicked up to his, then down at her hands shyly. "I am, thank you," she replied quietly. "And you?"

"I am well," Ibrahim nodded. _And better for seeing you_.

Hashima returned, stalling the conversation just as it began. "Ah, here we are," she sighed as she sat back down and started slicing the loaf. "I have one for Malik and Aliyah, as well, if you would be so kind as to deliver it."

Ibrahim nodded. "Of course."

For months, Aida had managed to live her days without crying over the man that had no interest in her existence. When Ibrahim left that afternoon, she burst into tears and was almost inconsolable for the rest of the day.

As Ibrahim unpacked his things in his old room, his hand landed on a deep blue scarf he'd purchased in Jerusalem. He'd forgotten about it when he'd arrived, and during his visit with Hashima and he swore under his breath.

He'd spent nearly two hours in Aida's presence. How could he have not remembered buying the scarf for her?


End file.
